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with  the  above.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
Boston  and  Nbw  York. 


POEMS   BY  JOHN    HAY 


? 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1871, 1890,  and  1899, 
By  JOHN  HAY. 

All  rights  reserved. 


s 

o 


35 


CONTENTS. 


THE  PIKE  COUNTY  BALLADS. 

Jim  Bludso 9 

Little  Breeches 13 

Banty  Tim 17 

The  Mystery  of  Gilgal •       .  21 

Golyer 25 

The  Pledge  at  Spunky  Point 30 

WANDERLIEDER. 

Sunrise  in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde      .       .       .       .39 

The  Sphinx  of  the  Tuileries 47 

The  Surrender  of  Spain 50 

The  Prayer  of  the  Romans 54 

The  Curse  of  Hungary 57 

The  Monks  of  Basle   ........  61 

The  Enchanted  Shirt 67 

A  Woman's  Love 73 

On  Pitz  Languard 76 

Boudoir  Prophecies ,  78 


m?(mm 


IV  CONTENTS. 

A  Triumph  of  Order 80 

Ernst  of  Edelsheim 83 

My  Castle  in  Spain 88 

Sister  Saint  Luke 93 

NEW  AND   OLD. 

Miles  Keogh's  Horse 97 

The  Advance  Guard 102 

Love's  Prayer 106 

Christine 108 

Expectation 110 

To  Flora 112 

A  Haunted  Room 114 

Dreams 116 

The  Light  of  Love ...  117 

Quand-Meme 119 

Words 122 

The  Stirrup  Cup 124 

A  Dream  of  Bric-a-Brac 126 

Liberty 135 

The  White  Flag 138 

The  Law  of  Death 140 

Mount  Tabor 145 

Religion  and  Doctrine 148 

Sinai  and  Calvary 152 

The  Vision  of  St.  Peter 155 

Israel 158 

Crows  at  Washington 163 


CONTENTS.  V 

Remorse 166 

Esse  Quam  Videri 168 

When  the  Boys  come  Home 169 

Lese-Amour 172 

Northward 175 

In  the  Firelight 179 

In  a  Graveyard 183 

The  Prairie 185 

Centennial 189 

A  Winter  Night 195 

Student-Song 196 

How  it  happened 198 

God's  Vengeance 201 

Too  Late 203 

Love's  Doubt 206 

Lagrimas 208 

On  the  Bluff 210 

Una 212 

"Through  the  Long  Days  and  Years"     ....  215 

A  Phylactery 217 

Blondine 219 

Distichs 221 

Regardant 227 

Guy  of  the  Temple 230 

TRANSLATIONS. 

The  Way  to  Heaven 255 

After  Heine: 

Countess  Jutta •       .  257 


VI  CONTENTS. 

A  Blessing 259 

To  the  Young 260 

The  Golden  Calf 262 

The  Azra     .       .       .       • 264 

Good  and  Bad  Luck 266 

L'Amour  du  Mensonge 267 

Amor  Mysticus •       •      269 


THE  PIKE  COUNTY  BALLADS. 


JIM   BLUDSO, 

OF   THE   PRAIRIE   BELLE. 

\  II J  ALL,  no!  I  can't  tell  whar  he  lives, 

Becase  he  don't  live,  you  see  ; 
Leastways,  he  's  got  out  of  the  habit 

Of  livin'  like  you  and  me. 
Whar  have  you  been  for  the  last  three  year 

That  you  have  n't  heard  folks  tell 
How  Jimmy  Bludso  passed  in  his  checks 

The  night  of  the  Prairie  Belle  ? 

He  were  n't  no  saint,  —  them  engineers 
Is  all  pretty  much  alike, — 


IO  JIM   BLUDSO. 

One  wife  in  Natchez-under-the-Hill 
And  another  one  here,  in  Pike; 

A  keerless  man  in  his  talk  was  Jim, 
And  an  awkward  hand  in  a  row, 

But  he  never  flunked,  and  he  never  lied,— 
I  reckon  he  never  knowed  how. 

And  this  was  all  the  religion  he  had,— • 

To  treat  his  engine  well  ; 
Never  be  passed  on  the  river 

To  mind  the  pilot's  bell ; 
And  if  ever  the  Prairie  Belle  took  fire,  — 

A  thousand  times  he  swore, 
He  'd  hold  her  nozzle  agin  the  bank 

Till  the  last  soul  got  ashore. 

All  boats  has  their  day  on  the  Mississip, 
And  her  day  come  at  last, — 


JIM   BLUDSO.  II 

The  Movastar  was  a  better  boat, 
But  the  Belle  she  wouldn't  be  passed. 

And  so  she  come  tearin'  along  that  night  — 
The  oldest  craft  on  the  line  — 

With  a  nigger  squat  on  her  safety-valve, 
And  her  furnace  crammed,  rosin  and  pine. 

The  fire  bust  out  as  she  clared  the  bar, 

And  burnt  a  hole  in  the  night, 
And  quick  as  a  flash  she  turned,  and  made 

For  that  wilier-bank  on  the  right. 
There  was  runnin'  and  cursin',  but  Jim  yelled  out, 

Over  all  the  infernal  roar, 
"  I  '11  hold  her  nozzle  agin  the  bank 

Till  the  last  galoot 's  ashore." 

Through  the  hot,  black  breath  of  the  burnin'  boat 
Jim  Bludso's  voice  was  heard, 


12  JIM   BLUDSO. 

And  they  all  had  trust  in  his  cussedness, 
And  knowed  he  would  keep  his  word. 

And,  sure  's  you  're  born,  they  all  got  off 
Afore  the  smokestacks  fell, — 

And  Bludso's  ghost  went  up  alone 
In  the  smoke  of  the  Prairie  Belle. 


He  were  n't  no  saint,  —  but  at  jedgment 

I  'd  run  my  chance  with  Jim, 
'Longside  of  some  pious  gentlemen 

That  would  n't  shook  hands  with  him. 
He  seen  his  duty,  a  dead-sure  thing, — 

And  went  for  it  thar  and  then ; 
And  Christ  ain't  a  going  to  be  too  hard 

On  a  man  that  died  for  men. 


LITTLE   BREECHES. 

T   DON'T  go  much  on  religion, 
I  never  ain't  had  no  show ; 
But  I  've  got  a  middlin'  tight  grip,  sir, 

On  the  handful  o'  things  I  know. 
I  don't  pan  out  on  the  prophets 

And  free-will,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  - 
But  I  b'lieve  in  God  and  the  angels, 

Ever  sence  one  night  last  spring. 

I  come  into  town  with  some  turnips, 
And  my  little  Gabe  come  along, — 

No  four-year-old  in  the  county 

Could  beat  him  for  pretty  and  strong, 


14  LITTLE   BREECHES. 

Peart  and  chipper  and  sassy, 
Always  ready  to  swear  and  fight,— 

And  I'd  larnt  him  to  chaw  terbacker 
Jest  to  keep  his  milk-teeth  white. 

The  snow  come  down  like  a  blanket 

As  I  passed  by  Taggart's  store; 
I  went  in  for  a  jug  of  molasses 

And  left  the  team  at  the  door. 
They  scared  at  something  and  started, 

I  heard  one  little  squall, 
And  hell-to-split  over  the  prairie 

Went  team,  Little  Breeches  and  all. 

Hell-to-split  over  the  prairie ! 

I  was  almost  froze  with  skeer ; 
But  we  rousted  up  some  torches, 

And  sarched  for  'em  far  and  near. 


LITTLE  BREECHES.  1 5 

At  last  we  struck  hosses  and  wagon, 
Snowed  under  a  soft  white  mound, 

Upsot,  dead  beat,  —  but  of  little  Gabe 
No  hide  nor  hair  was  found. 


And  here  all  hope  soured  on  me, 

Of  my  fellow-critter's  aid, — 
I  jest  flopped  down  on  my  marrow-bones, 

Crotch-deep  in  the  snow,  and  prayed. 

•  •  •  • 

By  this,  the  torches  was  played  out, 

And  me  and  Isrul  Parr 
Went  off  for  some  wood  to  a  sheepfold 

That  he  said  was  somewhar  thar. 


We  found  it  at  last,  and  a  little  shed 
Where  they  shut  up  the  lambs  at  night. 


1 6  LITTLE   BREECHES. 

We  looked  in  and  seen  them  huddled  thar, 
So  warm  and  sleepy  and  white  ; 

And  thar   sot  Little  Breeches  and  chirped, 
As  peart  as  ever  you  see, 

"  I  want  a  chaw  of  terbacker, 
And  that 's  what 's  the  matter  of  me." 


How  did  he  git  thar  ?     Angels. 

He  could  never  have  walked  in  that  storm 
They  jest  scooped  down  and  toted  him 

To  whar  it  was  safe  and  warm. 
And  I  think  that  saving  a  little  child, 

And  fotching  him  to  his  own, 
Is  a  derned  sight  better  business 

Than  loafing  around  The  Throne. 


BANTY   TIM. 

* 

(remarks  of  sergeant  tilmon  joy  to  the  white  man's 
committee  of  spunky  point,  illinois.) 

T    RECKON  I  git  your  drift,  gents,— 

You  'low  the  boy  sha'  n't  stay ; 
This  is  a  white  man's  country ; 

You  're  Dimocrats,  you  say  ; 
And  whereas,  and  seein',  and  wherefore, 

The  times  bein'  all  out  o'  j'int, 
The  nigger  has  got  to  mosey 

From  the  limits  o'  Spunky  P'int ! 


Le's  reason  the  thing  a  minute  : 
I  'm  an  old-fashioned  Dimocrat  too, 


1 8  BANTY  TIM. 

Though  I  laid  my  politics  out  o'  the  way 
For  to  keep  till  the  war  was  through. 

But  I  come  back  here,  allowin' 
To  vote  as  I  used  to  do, 

Though  it  gravels  me  like  the  devil  to  train 
Along  o*  sich  fools  as  you. 

Now  dog  my  cats  ef  I  kin  see, 

In  all  the  light  of  the  day, 
What  you  've  got  to  do  with  the  question 

Ef  Tim  shill  go  or  stay. 
And  furder  than  that  I  give  notice, 

Ef  one  of  you  tetches  the  boy, 
He  kin  check  his  trunks  to  a  warmer  clime 

Than  he  '11  find  in  Illanoy, 

Why,  blame  your  hearts,  jest  hear  me ! 
You  know  that  ungodly  day 


BANTY   TIM.  19 

When  our  left  struck  Vicksburg  Heights,  how  ripped 

And  torn  and  tattered  we  lay. 
When  the  rest  retreated  I  stayed  behind, 

Fur  reasons  sufficient  to  me, — 
With  a  rib  caved  in,  and  a  leg  on  a  strike, 

I  sprawled  on  that  cursed  glacee. 

Lord!  how  the  hot  sun  went  for  us, 

And  br'iled  and  blistered  and  burned ! 
How  the  Rebel  bullets  whizzed  round  us 

When  a  cuss  in  his  death-grip  turned ! 
Till  along  toward  dusk  I  seen  a  thing 

I  could  n't  believe  for  a  spell : 
That  nigger  —  that  Tim  —  was  a  crawlin'  to  me 

Through  that  fire-proof,  gilt-edged  hell ! 

The  Rebels  seen  him  as  quick  as  me, 
And  the  bullets  buzzed  like  bees ; 


20  BANTY  TIM. 

But  he  jumped  for  me,  and  shouldered  me, 

Though  a  shot  brought  him  once  to  his  knees ; 

But  he  staggered  up,  and  packed  me  off, 
With  a  dozen  stumbles  and  falls, 

Till  safe  in  our  lines  he  drapped  us  both, 
His  black  hide  riddled  with  balls. 


So,  my  gentle  gazelles,  thar  's  my  answer, 

And  here  stays  Banty  Tim  : 
He  trumped  Death's  ace  for  me  that  day, 

And  I  'm  not  goin   back  on  him  ! 
You  may  rezoloot  till  the  cows  come  homes 

But  ef  one  of  you  tetches  the  boy, 
He  '11  wrastle  his  hash  to-night  in  hell, 

Or  my  name  's  not  Tilmon  Joy ! 


THE   MYSTERY   OF  GILGAL. 

'"T^HE  darkest,  strangest  mystery 

I  ever  read,  or  heern,  or  see, 
Is  'long  of  a  drink  at  Taggart's  Hall,— 
Tom  Taggart's  of  Gilgal. 

I  've  heern  the  tale  a  thousand  ways, 
But  never  could  git  through  the  maze 
That  hangs  around  that  queer  day's  doin's; 
But  I  '11  tell  the  yarn  to  youans. 

Tom  Taggart  stood  behind  his  bar, 
The  time  was  fall,  the  skies  was  fa'r, 
The  neighbors  round  the  counter  drawed, 
And  ca'mly  drinked  and  jawed. 


22  THE   MYSTERY   OF   GILGAL. 

At  last  come  Colonel  Blood  of  Pike^ 
And  old  J  edge  Phinn,  permiscus-like, 
And  each,  as  he  meandered  in, 
Remarked,  "A  whisky-skin " 

Tom  mixed  the  beverage  full  and  fa'r, 
And  slammed  it,  smoking,  on  the  bar. 
Some  says  three  ringers,  some  says  two, — 
I'll  leave  the  choice  to  you. 

Phinn  to  the  drink  put  forth  his  hand ; 
Blood  drawed  his  knife,  with  accent  bland, 
"I  ax  yer  parding,  Mister  Phinn  — 
Jest  drap  that  whisky-skin." 

No  man  high-toneder  could  be  found 
Than  old  Jedge  Phinn  the  country  round. 


THE   MYSTERY   OF    GILGAL.  23 

Says  he,  "  Young  man,  the  tribe  of  Phinns 
Knows  their  own  whisky-skins ! " 

He  went  for  his  'leven-inch  bowie-knife :  — 
"  I  tries  to  foller  a  Christian  life ; 
But  I  '11  drap  a  slice  of  liver  or  two, 
My  bloomin'  shrub,  with  you." 

They  carved  in  a  way  that  all  admired, 
Tell  Blood  drawed  iron  at  last,  and  fired. 
It  took  Seth  Bludso  'twixt  the  eyes, 
Which  caused  him  great  surprise. 

Then  coats  went  off,  and  all  went  in; 
Shots  and  bad  language  swelled  the  din ; 
The  short,  sharp  bark  of  Derringers, 
Like  bull-pups,  cheered  the  furse. 


24  THE    MYSTERY    OF    GILGAL. 

They  piled  the  stiffs  outside  the  door; 
They  made,  I  reckon,  a  cord  or  more. 
Girls  went  that  winter,  as  a  rule, 
Alone  to  spellin'-school. 


I've  sarched  in  vain,  from  Dan  to  Beer- 
Sheba,  to  make  this  mystery  clear; 
But  I  end  with  hit  as  I  did  begin,— 
Who  got  the  whisky-skin  ? " 


GOLYER. 

T7F  the  way  a  man  lights  out  of  this  world 
Helps  fix  his  heft  for  the  other  sp'ere, 
I  reckon  my  old  friend  Golyer's  Ben 
Will  lay  over  lots  of  likelier  men 
For  one  thing  he  done  down  here. 


You  did  n't  know  Ben  ?     He  driv  a  stage 

On  the  line  they  called  the  Old  Sou'-west ; 
He  wa'n't  the  best  man  that  ever  you  seen, 
And  he  wa'n't  so  ungodly  pizen  mean, — 
No  better  nor  worse  than  the  rest. 


He  was  hard  on  women  and  rough  on  his  friends; 
And  he  didn't  have  many,  I'll  let  you  know; 


26  GOLYER. 

He  hated  a  dog  and  disgusted  a  cat, 
But  he'd  run  off  his  legs  for  a  motherless  brat, 
And  I  guess  there's  many  jess  so. 

I've  seed  my  sheer  of  the  run  of  things, 

I've  hoofed  it  a  many  and  many  a  miled, 
But  I  never  seed  nothing  that  could  or  can 
Jest  git  all  the  good  from  the  heart  of  a  man 
Like  the  hands  of  a  little  child. 


Well !  this  young  one  I  started  to  tell  you  about,  — ^ 
His   folks    was   all    dead,    I    was    fetchin'    him 
through,  — 
He  was  just  at  the  age  that's  loudest  for  boys, 
And  he  blowed  such  a  horn  with  his  sarchin'  small 
voice, 
We  called  him  "the  Little  Boy  Blue." 


GOLYER.  27 

He  ketched  a  sight  of  Ben  on  the  box, 
And  you  bet  he  bawled  and  kicked  and  howled, 

For  to  git  'long  of  Ben,  and  ride  thar  too; 

I  tried  to  tell  him  it  wouldn't  do, 
When  suddingly  Golyer  growled, 

"What's  the  use  of  making  the  young  one  cry? 

Say,  what's  the  use  of  being  a  fool? 
Sling  the  little  one  up  here  whar  he  can  see, 
He  won't  git  the  snuffles  a-ridin'  with  me, — 

The  night  ain't  any  too  cool." 

The  child  hushed  cryin'  the  minute  he  spoke; 

"  Come  up  here,  Major !   don't  let  him  slip." 
And  jest  as  nice  as  a  woman  could  do, 
He  wropped  his  blanket  around  them  two, 

And  was  off  in  the  crack  of  a  whip. 


28  GOLYER. 

We  rattled  along  an  hour  or  so, 

Till  we  heerd  a  yell  on  the  still  night  air. 
Did  you  ever  hear  an  Apache  yell? 
Well,  ye  needn't  want  to,  this  side  of  hell; 

There's  nothing  more  devilish  there. 

Caught  in  the  shower  of  lead  and  flint 

We  felt  the  old  stage  stagger  and  plunge; 
Then  we  heerd  the  voice  and  the  whip  of  Ben, 
As  he  gethered  his  critters  up  again, 
And  tore  away  with  a  lunge. 

The  passengers  laughed.     "Old  Ben's  all  right, 

He's  druv  five  year  and  never  was  struck." 
"Now  if  /'d  been  thar,  as  sure  as  you  live, 
They'd  'a'  plugged  me  with  holes  as  thick  as  a 
sieve ; 
It's  the  reg'lar  Golyer  luck." 


GOLYER.  29 

Over  hill  and  holler  and  ford  and  creek 

Jest  like  the  hosses  had  wings,  we  tore; 
We  got  to  Looney's,  and  Ben  come  in 
And  laid  down  the  baby  and  axed  for  his  gin, 
And  dropped  in  a  heap  on  the  floor. 

Said  he,  "  When  they  fired,  I  kivered  the  kid,  — 

Although  I  ain't  pretty,  I'm  middlin'  broad; 
And  look!  he  ain't  fazed  by  arrow  nor  ball, — 
Thank  God !    my  own  carcase  stopped  them  all." 
Then  we  seen  his  eye  glaze,  and  his  lower  jaw 
fall,  — 
And  he  carried  his  thanks  to  God 


THE  PLEDGE  AT  SPUNKY  POINT. 

A  TALE   OF   EARNEST   EFFORT  AND    HUMAN   PERFIDY. 

IT'S  all  very  well  for  preachin', 

But  preachin'  and  practice  don't  gee: 
I've  give  the  thing  a  fair  trial, 

And  you  can't  ring  it  in  on  me. 
So  toddle  along  with  your  pledge,  Squire, 

Ef  that's  what  you  want  me  to  sign; 
Betwixt  me  and  you,  I've  been  thar, 
And  I'll  not  take  any  in  mine. 

A  year  ago  last  Fo'th  July 

A  lot  of  the  boys  was  here. 
We  all  got  corned  and  signed  the  pledge 

For  to  drink  no  more  that  year. 


THE  PLEDGE  AT  SPUNKY  POINT.        31 

There  was  Tilman  Joy  and  Sheriff  McPhail 

And  me  and  Abner  Fry, 
And  Shelby's  boy  Leviticus 

And  the  Golyers,  Luke  and  Cy. 

And  we  anteed  up  a  hundred 

In  the  hands  of  Deacon  Kedge 

For  to  be  divided  the  follerin'  Fo'th 

'Mongst  the  boys  that  kep'  the  pledge. 
And  we  knowed  each  other  so  well,  Squire, 

You  may  take  my  scalp  for  a  fool, 

Ef  every  man  when  he  signed  his  name 

Didn't  feel  cock-sure  of  the  pool. 

Fur  a  while  it  all  went  lovely; 

We  put  up  a  job  next  day 
Fur  to  make  Joy  b'lieve  his  wife  was  dead, 
And  he  went  home  middlin'  gay ; 


32       THE  PLEDGE  AT  SPUNKY  POINT. 

Then  Abner  Fry  he  killed  a  man 

And  afore  he  was  hung  McPhail 
Jest  bilked  the  widder  outen  her  sheer 

By  getting  him  slewed  in  jail. 

But  Chris'mas  scooped  the  Sheriff, 

The  egg-nogs  gethered  him  in; 
And  Shelby's  boy  Leviticus 

Was,  New  Year's,  tight  as  sin ; 
And  along  in  March  the  Golyers 

Got  so  drunk  that  a  fresh-biled  owl 
Would   'a'   looked  'long-side   o'    them    two  young 
men, 

Like  a  sober  temperance  fowl. 

Four  months  alone  I  walked  the  chalk, 
I  thought  my  heart  would  break; 


THE    PLEDGE   AT   SPUNKY   POINT.  33 

And  all  them  boys  a-slappin*  my  back 

And  axin',  "What '11  you  take?" 
I  never  slep'  without  dreamin'  dreams 

Of  Burbin,  Peach,  or  Rye, 
But  I  chawed  at  my  niggerhead  and  swore 

I'd  rake  that  pool  or  die. 


At  last  —  the  Fo'th  —  I  humped  myself 

Through  chores  and  breakfast  soon, 
Then  scooted  down  to  Taggarts'  store  — 

For  the  pledge  was  off  at  noon ; 
And  all  the  boys  was  gethered  thar, 

And  each  man  hilt  his  glass  — 
Watchin'  me  and  the  clock  quite  solemn-like 

Fur  to  see  the  last  minute  pass. 

The  clock  struck  twelve!     I  raised  the  jug 
And  took  one  lovin'  pull  — 


34  THE   PLEDGE   AT   SPUNKY   POINT. 

I  was  holler  clar  from  skull  to  boots, 
It  seemed  I  could  n't  git  full. 

But  I  was  roused  by  a  fiendish  laugh 

That  might  have  raised  the  dead  — 

Them  ornary  sneaks  had  sot  the  clock 
A  half  an  hour  ahead! 


"All  right!"   I  squawked.      "You've  got  me, 

Jest  order  your  drinks  agin, 
And  we'll  paddle  up  to  the  Deacon's 

And  scoop  the  ante  in." 
But  when  we  got  to  Kedge's, 

What  a  sight  was  that  we  saw! 
The  Deacon  and  Parson  Skeeters 

In  the  tail  of  a  game  of  Draw. 

They  had  shook  'em  the  heft  of  the  mornin', 
The  Parson's  luck  was  fa'r, 


THE  PLEDGE  AT  SPUNKY  POINT.        35 

And  he  raked,  the  minute  we  got  thar, 

The  last  of  our  pool  on  a  pa'r. 
So  toddle  along  with  your  pledge,  Squire, 

I  'low  it's  all  very  fine, 
But  ez  fur  myself,  I  thank  ye, 

I'll  not  take  any  in  mine. 


WANDERLIEDER 


SUNRISE    IN    THE    PLACE    DE    LA 

CONCORDE. 

(PARIS,   AUGUST,    1 865.) 

T   STAND  at  the  break  of  day 

In  the  Champs  Elys£es. 
The  tremulous  shafts  of  dawning 
As  they  shoot  o'er  the  Tuileries  early, 
Strike  Luxor's  cold  gray  spire, 
And  wild  in  the  light  of  the  morning 
With  their  marble  manes  on  fire, 
Ramp  the  white  Horses  of  Marly. 


But  the  Place  of  Concord  lies 
Dead  hushed  'neath  the  ashy  skies. 


40    SUNRISE  IN  THE  PLACE  DE  LA  CONCORDE. 

And  the  Cities  sit  in  council 

With  sleep  in  their  wide  stone  eyes. 

I  see  the  mystic  plain 

Where  the  army  of  spectres  slain 

In  the  Emperor's  life-long  war 

March  on  with  unsounding  tread 

To  trumpets  whose  voice  is  dead. 

Their  spectral  chief  still  leads  them,  — 

The  ghostly  flash  of  his  sword 

Like  a  comet  through  mist  shines  far, — 

And  the  noiseless  host  is  poured, 

For  the  gendarme  never  heeds  them, 

Up  the  long  dim  road  where  thundered 

The  army  of  Italy  onward 

Through  the  great  pale  Aroh  of  the  Star  ! 


The  spectre  army  fades 
Far  up  the  glimmering  hill, 


SUNRISE  IN  THE  PLACE  DE  LA  CONCORDE.   4 1 

But,  vaguely  lingering  still, 

A  group  of  shuddering  shades 

Infects  the  pallid  air, 

Growing  dimmer  as  day  invades 

The  hush  of  the  dusky  square. 

There  is  one  that  seems  a  King, 

As  if  the  ghost  of  a  Crown 

Still  shadowed  his  jail-bleached  hair ; 

I  can  hear  the  guillotine  ring, 

As  its  regicide  note  rang  there, 

When  he  laid  his  tired  life  down 

And  grew  brave  in  his  last  despair. 

And  a  woman  frail  and  fair 

Who  weeps  at  leaving  a  world 

Of  love  and  revel  and  sin 

In  the  vast  Unknown  to  be  hurled; 

(For  life  was  wicked  and  sweet 


42   SUNRISE  IN  THE  PLACE  DE  LA  CONCORDE. 

With  kings  at  her  small  white  feet ! ) 
And  one,  every  inch  a  Queen, 
In  life  and  in  death  a  Queen, 
Whose  blood  baptized  the  place, 
In  the  days  of  madness  and  fear,— 
Her  shade  has  never  a  peer 
In  majesty  and  grace. 

Murdered  and  murderers  swarm  ; 

Slayers  that  slew  and  were  slain, 

Till  the  drenched  place  smoked  with  the  rain 

That  poured  in  a  torrent  warm, — 

Till  red  as  the  Rider's  of  Edom 

Were  splashed  the  white  garments  of  Freedom 

With  the  wash  of  the  horrible  storm  ! 

And  Liberty's  hands  were  not  clean 
In  the  day  of  her  pride  unchained, 


SUNRISE  IN  THE  PLACE  DE  LA  CONCORDE.    43 

Her  royal  hands  were  stained 

With  the  life  of  a  King  and  Queen  ; 

And  darker  than  that  with  the  blood 

Of  the  nameless  brave  and  good 

Whose  blood  in  witness  clings 

More  damning  than  Queens'  and  Kings'. 


Has  she  not  paid  it  dearly  ? 

Chained,  watching  her  chosen  nation 

Grinding  late  and  early 

In  the  mills  of  usurpation  ? 

Have  not  her  holy  tears 

Flowing  through  shameful  years, 

Washed  the  stains  from  her  tortured  hands  ? 

We  thought  so  when  God's  fresh  breeze, 

Blowing  over  the  sleeping  lands, 

In  'Forty-Eight  waked  the  world, 


44   SUNRISE  IN  THE  PLACE  DE  LA  CONCORDE. 

And  the  Burgher-King  was  hurled 
From  that  palace  behind  the  trees. 


As  Freedom  with  eyes  aglow 

Smiled  glad  through  her  childbirth  pain, 

How  was  the  mother  to  know 

That  her  woe  and  travail  were  vain  ? 

A  smirking  servant  smiled 

When  she  gave  him  her  child  to  keep  ; 

Did  she  know  he  would  strangle  the  child 

As  it  lay  in  his  arms  asleep  ? 

Liberty's  cruellest  shame ! 
She  is  stunned  and  speechless  yet. 
In  her  grief  and  bloody  sweat 
Shall  we  make  her  trust  her  blame  ? 
The  treasure  of  'Forty-Eight 


SUNRISE  IN  THE  PLACE  DE  LA  CONCORDE.    45 

A  lurking  jail-bird  stole, 
She  can  but  watch  and  wait 
As  the  swift  sure  seasons  roll. 


And  when  in  God's  good  hour 

Comes  the  time  of  the  brave  and  true, 

Freedom  again  shall  rise 

With  a  blaze  in  her  awful  eyes 

That  shall  wither  this  robber-power 

As  the  sun  now  dries  the  dew. 

This  Place  shall  roar  with  the  voice 

Of  the  glad  triumphant  people, 

And  the  heavens  be  gay  with  the  chimes 

Ringing  with  jubilant  noise 

From  every  clamorous  steeple 

The  coming  of  better  times. 

And  the  dawn  of  Freedom  waking 


46   SUNRISE  IN  THE  PLACE  DE  LA  CONCORDE. 

Shall  fling  its  splendors  far 
Like  the  day  which  now  is  breaking 
On  the  great  pale  Arch  of  the  Star, 
And  back  o'er  the  town  shall  fly/ 
While  the  joy-bells  wild  are  ringing, 
To  crown  the  Glory  springing 
From  the  Column  of  July ! 


THE  SPHINX  OF  THE  TUILERIES. 

/^\  UT  of  the  Latin  Quarter 
I  came  to  the  lofty  door 
Where  the  two  marble  Sphinxes  guard 

The  Pavilion  de  Flore. 
Two  Cockneys  stood  by  the  gate,  and  one 

Observed,  as  they  turned  to  go, 
"  No  wonder  He  likes  that  sort  of  thing,  — 

He  's  a  Sphinx  himself,  you  know." 

I  thought  as  I  walked  where  the  garden  glowed 

In  the  sunset's  level  fire, 
Of  the  Charlatan  whom  the  Frenchmen  loathe 

And  the  Cockneys  all  admire. 


48  THE   SPHINX   OF   THE   TUILERIES. 

They  call  him  a  Sphinx,  —  it  pleases  him,  — ■ 

And  if  we  narrowly  read, 
We  will  find  some  truth  in  the  flunkey's  praise, 

The  man  is  a  Sphinx  indeed. 

For  the  Sphinx  with  breast  of  woman 

And  face  so  debonair 
Had  the  sleek  false  paws  of  a  lion, 

That  could  furtively  seize  and  tear. 
So  far  to  the  shoulders,  —  but  if  you  took 

The  Beast  in  reverse  you  would  find 
The  ignoble  form  of  a  craven  cur 

Was  all  that  lay  behind. 

She  lived  by  giving  to  simple  folk 

A  silly  riddle  to  read, 
And  when  they  failed  she  drank  their  blood 

In  cruel  and  ravenous  greed. 


THE   SPHINX    OF   THE    TUILERIES. 

But  at  last  came  one  who  knew  her  word, 
And  she  perished  in  pain  and  shame,  — 

This  bastard  Sphinx  leads  the  same  base  life 

And  his  end  will  be  the  same. 

For  an  CEdipus- People  is  coming  fast 

With  swelled  feet  limping  on, 
If  they  shout  his  true  name  once  aloud 

His  false  foul  power  is  gone. 
Afraid  to  fight  and  afraid  to  fly, 

He  cowers  in  an  abject  shiver; 
The  people  will  come  to  their  own  at  last,  — 

God  is  not  mocked  forever. 


49 


THE   SURRENDER    OF    SPAIN. 

i. 
T    AND  of  unconquered  Pelayo  !  land  of  the  Cid 

Campeador  ! 
Sea-girdled  mother  of  men !    Spain,  name  of  glory 

and  power ; 
Cradle  of  world-grasping  Emperors,   grave    of  the 

reckless  invader, 
How  art  thou  fallen,  my  Spain !  how  art  thou  sunk 

at  this  hour ! 

ii. 

Once  thy  magnanimous  sons  trod,  victors,  the  por- 
tals of  Asia, 

Once  the  Pacific  waves  rushed,  joyful  thy  banners 
to  see ; 


THE   SURRENDER   OF    SPAIN.  5 1 

For   it   was  Trajan   that  carried   the   battle-flushed 

eagles  to  Dacia, 

Cortds  that  planted  thy  flag  fast  by  the  uttermost 

sea. 

in. 
Has  thou  forgotten  those  days  illumined  with  glory 

and  honor, 

When  the  far  isles  of  the  sea  thrilled  to  the  tread 
of  Castile  ? 

When  every  land  under  Heaven  was  flecked  by 
the  shade  of  thy  banner,  — 

When  every  beam  of  the  sun  flashed  on  thy  con- 
quering steel  ? 

rv. 

Then  through  red  fields  of  slaughter,  through  death 

and  defeat  and  disaster, 
Still  flared  thy  banner  aloft,  tattered,  but  free  fron 
a  stain,  — 


52  THE   SURRENDER   OF   SPAIN. 

Now  to  the  upstart  Savoyard  thou   bendest  to  beg 

for  a  master ! 
How  the  red  flush  of  her  shame  mars  the  proud 

beauty  of  Spain ! 

v. 

Has   the   red   blood   run    cold   that  boiled  by  the 

Xenil  and  Darro  ? 

Are  the  high  deeds  of  the  sires  sung  to  the  chil- 
dren no  more  ? 

On  the  dun  hills  of  the  North  hast  thou  heard  of 
no  plough-boy  Pizarro  ? 

Roams  no  young  swine-herd  Cortds  hid  by  the 
Tagus'  wild  shore  ? 

VI. 

Once  again  does  Hispania  bend  low  to  the  yoke 

of  the  stranger  ! 
Once  again  will  she  rise,  flinging  her  gyves  in  the 


sea ! 


t 


THE   SURRENDER   OF   SPAIN.  53 

Princeling   of    Piedmont !    unwitting    thou    weddest 

with  doubt  and  with  danger, 
King  over  men  who  have  learned  all  that  it  costs 

to  be  free. 


THE  PRAYER   OF  THE  ROMANS. 

\T OT  done,  but  near  its  ending, 

Is  the  work  that  our  eyes  desired ; 
Not  yet  fulfilled,  but  near  the  goal, 

Is  the  hope  that  our  worn  hearts  fired. 
A-nd  on  the  Alban  Mountains, 

Where  the  blushes  of- dawn  increase, 
We  see  the  flash  of  the  beautiful  feet 

Of  Freedom  and  of  Peace ! 


How  long  were  our  fond  dreams  baffled !  — 

Novara's  sad  mischance, 
The  Kaiser's  sword  and  fetter-lock, 

And  the  traitor  stab  of  France ; 


THE   PRAYER   OF   THE   ROMANS.  55 

Till  at  last  came  glorious  Venice, 

In  storm  and  tempest  home ; 
And  now  God  maddens  the  greedy  kings, 

And  gives  to  her  people  Rome. 

Lame  Lion  of  Caprera  ! 

Red-shirts  of  the  lost  campaigns ! 
Not  idly  shed  was  the  costly  blood 

You  poured  from  generous  veins. 
For  the  shame  of  Aspromonte, 

And  the  stain  of  Mentana's  sod, 
But  forged  the  curse  of  kings  that  sprang 

From  your  breaking  hearts  to  God  ! 

We  lift  our  souls  to  thee,  O  Lord 

Of  Liberty  and  of  Light  ! 
Let  not  earth's  kings  pollute  the  work 

That  was  done  in  their  despite  ; 


56         THE  PRAYER  OF  THE  ROMANS. 

Let  not  thy  light  be  darkened 
In  the  shade  of  a  sordid  crown, 

Nor  pampered  swine  devour  the  fruit 
Thou  shook' st  with  an  earthquake  down  ! 

Let  the  People  come  to  their  birthright, 

And  crosier  and  crown  pass  away 
Like  phantasms  that  flit  o'er  the  marshes 

At  the  glance  of  the  clean,  white  day. 
And  then  from  the  lava  of  iEtna 

To  the  ice  of  the  Alps  let  there  be 
One  freedom,  one  faith  without  fetters, 

One  republic  in  Italy  free ! 


THE    CURSE    OF    HUNGARY. 

TV^ING  Saloman  looked  from  his  donjon  bars, 
Where   the   Danube    clamors    through    sedge 
and  sand, 
And  he  cursed  with  a  curse  his  revolting  land,  — 
With  a  king's  deep  curse  of  treason  and  wars. 

He  said :  "  May  this  false  land  know  no  truth  ! 

May  the  good  hearts  die  and  the  bad  ones  flour- 
ish, 

And  a  greed  of  glory  but  live  to  nourish 
Envy  and  hate  in  its  restless  youth. 

"  In  the  barren  soil  may  the  ploughshare  rust, 
While  the  sword  grows  bright  with  its  fatal  labor, 


58  THE   CURSE   OF   HUNGARY. 

And  blackens  between  each  man  and  neighbor- 
The  perilous  cloud  of  a  vague  distrust ! 


"Be  the  noble  idle,  the  peasant  in  thrall, 
And  each  to  the  other  as  unknown  things, 
That  with  links  of  hatred  and  pride  the  kings 

May  forge  firm  fetters  through  each  for  all ! 

"  May  a  king  wrong  them  as  they  wronged  their  king  ! 
May  he  wring  their  hearts  as  they  wrung  mine, 
Till  they  pour  their  blood  for  his  revels  like  wine, 

And  to  women  and  monks  their  birthright  fling ! " 


The  mad  king  died  ;   but  the  rushing  river 

Still  brawls  by  the  spot  where  his  donjon  stands, 
And  its  swift  waves  sigh  to  the  conscious  sands 

That  the  curse  of  King  Saloman  works  forever. 


THE   CURSE   OF   HUNGARY.  59 

For  flowing  by  Pressbourg  they  heard  the  cheers 
Ring  out  from  the  leal  and  cheated  hearts 
That  were  caught  and  chained  by  Theresa's  arts,  — 

A  man's  cool  head  and  a  girl's  hot  tears ! 


And  a  star,  scarce  risen,  they  saw  decline, 
Where  Orsova's  hills  looked  coldly  down, 
As  Kossuth  buried  the  Iron  Crown 

And  fled  in  the  dark  to  the  Turkish  line. 


And  latest  they  saw  in  the  summer  glare 
The  Magyar  nobles  in  pomp  arrayed, 
To  shout  as  they  saw,  with  his  unfleshed  blade, 

A  Hapsburg  beating  the  harmless  air. 


But  ever  the  same  sad  play  they  saw, 

The  same  weak  worship  of  sword  and  crown, 


60  THE    CURSE   OF   HUNGARY. 

The  noble  crushing  the  humble  down, 
And  moulding  Wrong  to  a  monstrous  Law. 

The  donjon  stands  by  the  turbid  river, 

But  Time  is  crumbling  its  battered  towers  ; 
And  the  slow  light  withers  a  despot's  powers, 

And  a  mad  king's  curse  is  not  forever! 


THE   MONKS    OF  BASLE. 

TORE  this  weed  from  the  rank,  dark  soil 
Where  it  grew  in  the  monkish  time, 
I  trimmed  it  close  and  set  it  again 
In  a  border  of  modern  rhyme. 


Long  years  ago,  when  the  Devil  was  loose 

And  faith  was  sorely  tried, 
Three  monks  of  Basle  went  out  to  walk 

In  the  quiet  eventide. 

A  breeze  as  pure  as  the  breath  of  Heaven 
Blew  fresh  through  the  cloister-shades, 


62  THE   MONKS   OF   BASLE. 

A  sky  as  glad  as  the  smile  of  Heaven    « 
Blushed  rose  o'er  the  minster-glades. 


But  scorning  the  lures  of  summer  and  sense, 
The  monks  passed  on  in  their  walk; 

Their  eyes  were  abased,  their  senses  slept, 
Their  souls  were  in  their  talk. 


In  the  tough  grim  talk  of  the  monkish  days 
They  hammered  and  slashed  about,  — 

Dry  husks  of  logic,  —  old  scraps  of  creed,  — 
And  the  cold  gray  dreams  of  doubt,  — 

And  whether  Just  or  Justified 

Was  the  Church's  mystic  Head, — 

And  whether  the  Bread  was  changed  to  God, 
Or  God  became  the  Bread. 


THE    MONKS    OF    BASLE.  63 

But  of  human  hearts  outside  their  walls 

They  never  paused  to  dream, 
And  they  never  thought  of  the  love  of  God 

That  smiled  in  the  twilight  gleam. 

11. 

As  these  three  monks  went  bickering  on 

By  the  foot  of  a  spreading  tree, 
Out  from  its  heart  of  verdurous  gloom 

A  song  burst  wild  and  free,  — 

A  wordless  carol  of  life  and  love, 

Of  nature  free  and  wild ; 
And  the  three  monks  paused  in  the  evening  shade 

Looked  up  at  each  other  and  smiled. 

And  tender  and  gay  the  bird  sang  on, 

1 

And  cooed  and  whistled  and  trilled, 


64  THE   MONKS   OF  BASLE. 

And  the  wasteful  wealth  of  life  and  love 
From  his  happy  heart  was  spilled. 

The  song  had  power  on  the  grim  old  monks 

In  the  light  of  the  rosy  skies ; 
And  as  they  listened  the  years  rolled  back, 

And  tears  came  into  their  eyes. 

The  years  rolled  back  and  they  were  young, 
With  the  hearts  and  hopes  of  men, 

They  plucked  the  daisies  and  kissed  the  girls 
Of  dear  dead  summers  again. 

in. 

But  the  eldest  monk  soon  broke  the  spell; 

"'Tis  sin  and  shame,"  quoth  he, 
*  To  be  turned  from  talk  of  holy  things 

By  a  bird's  cry  from  a  tree. 


THE    MONKS    OF    BASLE.  £> 

*  Perchance  the  Enemy  of  Souls 

Hath  come  to  tempt  us  so. 
Let  us  try  by  the  power  of  the  Awful  Word 

If  it  be  he,  or  no ! " 


To  Heaven  the  three  monks  raised  their  hands 
"  We  charge  thee,  speak  !  "  they  said, 

"By  His  dread  Name  who  shall  one  day  come 
To  judge  the  quick  and  the  dead, — 

"  Who  art  thou  ?    Speak  !  "    The  bird  laughed  loud 

"I  am  the  Devil,"  he  said. 
The  monks  on  their  faces  fell,  the  bird 

Away  through  the  twilight  sped. 

A  horror  fell  on  those  holy  mea 
(The  faithful  legends  say,) 


66  THE   MONKS   OF   BASLE. 

And  one  by  one  from  the  face  of  earth 
They  pined  and  vanished  away. 


IV. 

So  goes  the  tale  of  the  monkish  books, 
The  moral  who  runs  may  read,  — 

He  has  no  ears  for  Nature's  voice 
Whose  soul  is  the  slave  of  creed. 


Not  all  in  vain  with  beauty  and  love 
Has  God  the  world  adorned ; 

And  he  who  Nature  scorns  and  mocks, 
By  Nature  is  mocked  and  scorned. 


THE   ENCHANTED   SHIRT. 

r 

Fytte  the  First :  wherein  it  shall  be  shown  how  the  Truth  is  too  mighty 
a  Drug  for  such  as  be  of  feeble  temper. 

"^HE  King  was  sick.     His  cheek  was  red 
And  his  eye  was  clear  and  bright ; 
He  ate  and  drank  with  a  kingly  zest, 
And  peacefully  snored  at  night. 

But  he  said  he  was  sick,  and  a  king  should  know, 

And  doctors  came  by  the  score. 
They  did  not  cure  him.     He  cut  off  their  heads 

And  sent  to  the  schools  for  more. 

At  last  two  famous  doctors  came, 
And  one  was  as  poor  as  a  rat,  — 


68  THE   ENCHANTED   SHIRT. 

He  had  passed  his  life  in  studious  toil, 
And  never  found  time  to  grow  fat. 

i 

The  other  had  never  looked  in  a  book ; 

His  patients  gave  him  no  trouble, 
If  they  recovered  they  paid  him  well, 

If  they  died  their  heirs  paid  double. 

Together  they  looked  at  the  royal  tongue, 
As  the  King  on  his  couch  reclined  ; 

In  succession  they  thumped  his  august  chest, 
But  no  trace  of  disease  could  find. 


The  old  sage  said,  "  You  're  as  sound  as  a  nut." 
"Hang  him  up,"  roared  the  King  in  a  gale, — 

In  a  ten-knot  gale  of  royal  rage  ; 
The  other  leech  grew  a  shade  pale ; 


THE   ENCHANTED    SHIRT.  69 

But  he  pensively  rubbed  his  sagacious  nose, 

And  thus  his  prescription  ran, — 
The  King  will  he  well,  if  he  sleeps  one  night 

In  the  Shirt  of  a  Happy  Man. 


Fytte  the  Second  :  tells  of  the  search  for  the  Shirt  and  how  it  was 
nigh  found  but  was  not,  for  reasons  which  are  said  or  sung. 

Wide  o'er  the  realm  the  couriers  rode, 
And  fast  their  horses  ran, 

And  many  they  saw,  and  to  many  they  spoke, 
But  they  found  no  Happy  Man. 

They  found  poor  men  who  would  fain  be  rich, 
And  rich  who  thought  they  were  poor ; 

And  men  who  twisted  their  waists  in  stays, 
And  women  that  shorthose  wore. 


JO  THE   ENCHANTED    SHIRT. 

They  saw  two  men  by  the  roadside  sit, 
And  both  bemoaned  their  lot; 

For  one  had  buried  his  wife,  he  said, 
And  the  other  one  had  not. 


At  last  as  they  came  to  a  village  gate, 

A  beggar  lay  whistling  there  ; 
He  whistled  and  sang  and  laughed  and  rolled 

On  the  grass  in  the  soft  June  air. 

The  weary  couriers  paused  and  looked 

At  the  scamp  so  blithe  and  gay; 
And  one  of  them  said,  "  Heaven  save  you,  friend ! 

You  seem  to  be  happy  to-day." 

"O  yes,  fair  sirs,"  the  rascal  laughed 
And  his  voice  rang  free  and  glad, 


THE   ENCHANTED    SHIRT.  7 1 


*An  idle  man  has  so  much  to  do 
That  he  never  has  time  to  be  sad. 


>» 


"This  is  our  man,"  the  courier  said; 

"  Our  luck  has  led  us  aright. 
"I  will  give  you  a  hundred  ducats,  friend, 

For  the  loan  of  your  shirt  to-night." 

The  merry  blackguard  lay  back  on  the  grass, 
And  laughed  till  his  face  was  black; 

"  I  would  do  it,  God  wot,"  and  he  roared  with  the  fun, 
"  But  I  have  n't  a  shirt  to  my  back." 


Fytte  the  Third :  shewing  how  His  Majesty  the  King  came  at  last  to 
sleep  in  a  Happy  Man  his  Shirt. 

Each  day  to  the  King  the  reports  came  in 
Of  his  unsuccessful  spies, 


72  THE   ENCHANTED    SHIRT. 

And  the  sad  panorama  of  human  woes 
Passed  daily  under  his  eyes. 

And  he  grew  ashamed  of  his  useless  life, 
And  his  maladies  hatched  in  gloom ; 

He  opened  his  windows  and  let  the  air 
Of  the  free  heaven  into  his  room. 


And  out  he  went  in  the  world  and  toiled 
In  his  own  appointed  way ; 

And  the  people  blessed  him,  the  land  was  glad, 

And  the  King  was  well  and  gay. 


A    WOMAN'S    LOVE. 


A     SENTINEL  angel  sitting  high  in  glory 

Heard  this  shrill  wail  ring  out  from  Purgatory : 
"  Have  mercy,  mighty  angel,  hear  my  story  ! 


u  I  loved,  —  and,  blind  with  passionate  love,  I  felL 
Love  brought  me  down  to  death,  and  death  to  Hell. 
For  God  is  just,  and  death  for  sin  is  well. 


"  I  do  not  rage  against  his  high  decree, 
Nor  for  myself  do  ask  that  grace  shall  be ; 
But  for  my  love  on  earth  who  mourns  for  me. 


74  A   WOMAN'S   LOVE. 

"  Great  Spirit !     Let  me  see  my  love  again 
And  comfort  him  one  hour,  and  I  were  fain 
To  pay  a  thousand  years  of  fire  and  pain." 

Then  said  the  pitying  angel,  "Nay,  repent 
That  wild  vow !     Look,  the  dial-finger  's  bent 
Down  to  the  last  hour  of  thy  punishment ! " 

But  still  she  wailed,  "  I  pray  thee,  let  me  go  ! 
I  cannot  rise  to  peace  and  leave  him  so. 
O,  let  me  soothe  him  in  his  bitter  woe  ! " 

The  brazen  gates  ground  sullenly  ajar, 
And  upward,  joyous,  like  a  rising  star, 
She  rose  and  vanished  in  the  ether  far. 

But  soon  adown  the  dying  sunset  sailing, 
And  like  a  wounded  bird  her  pinions  trailing, 
She  fluttered  back,  with  broken-hearted  wailing. 


A   WOMAN'S   LOVE.  75 

She  sobbed,  "I  found  him  by  the  summer  sea 
Reclined,  his  head  upon  a  maiden's  knee,  — 
She  curled  his  hair  and  kissed  him.     Woe  is  me  ! " 


She  wept,  "  Now  let  my  punishment  begin  ! 
I  have  been  fond  and  foolish.     Let  me  in 
To  expiate  my  sorrow  and  my  sin." 

The  angel  answered,  "Nay,  sad  soul,  go  higher! 
To  be  deceived  in  your  true  heart's  desire 
Was  bitterer  than  a  thousand  years  of  fire ! " 


ON    PITZ    LANGUARD. 

T    STOOD  on  the  top  of  Pitz  Languard, 

And  heard  three  voices  whispering  low, 
Where  the  Alpine  birds  in  their  circling  ward 
Made  swift  dark  shadows  upon  the  snow. 

First  voice. 

I  loved  a  girl  with  truth  and  pain, 

She  loved  me  not.     When  she  said  good  by 
She  gave  me  a  kiss  to  sting  and  stain 

My  broken  life  to  a  rosy  dye. 

Second  voice. 
I  loved  a  woman  with  love  well  tried,  — 
And  I  swear  I  believe  she  loves  me  still 


ON    PITZ   LANGUARD.  77 

But  it  was  not  I  who  stood  by  her  side 

When  she  answered  the  priest  and  said    "I  will." 


Third  voice. 
I  loved  two  girls,  one  fond,  one  shy, 

And  I  never  divined  which  one  loved  me. 
One  married,  and  now,  though  I  can't  tell  why, 

Of  the  four  in  the  story  I  count  but  three. 


The  three  weird  voices  whispered  low 

Where  the  eagles  swept  in  their  circling  ward ; 

But  only  one  shadow  scarred  the  snow 
As  I  clambered  down  from  Pitz  Languard. 


BOUDOIR  PROPHECIES. 

/^\NE  day  in  the  Tuileries, 

When  a  southwest  Spanish  breeze 
Brought  scandalous  news  of  the  Queen, 
The  fair  proud  Empress  said, 
"My  good  friend  loses  her  head; 
If  matters  go  on  this  way, 
I  shall  see  her  shopping,  some  day, 
In  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines." 


The  saying  swiftly  went 
To  the  Place  of  the  Orient, 

And  the  stout  Queen  sneered,  "Ah,  well! 

You  are  proud  and  prude,  ma  belle ! 


BOUDOIR   PROPHECIES.  79 

But  I  think  I  will  hazard  a  guess 
I  shall  see  you  one  day  playing  chess 
With  the  Cure"  of  Carabanchel." 


Both  ladies,  though  not  over-wise, 

Were  lucky  in  prophecies. 

For  the  Boulevard  shopmen  well 
Know  the  form  of  stout  Isabel   « 
As  she  buys  her  modes  de  Paris; 

And  after  Sedan  in  despair 

The  Empress  prude  and  fair 

Went  to  visit  Madame  sa  Mere 
In  her  villa  at  Carabanchel  — 
But  the  Queen  was  not  there  to  see. 


A  TRIUMPH   OF  ORDER. 

A     SQUAD  of  regular  infantry 

In  the  Commune's  closing  days, 
Had  captured  a  crowd  of  rebels 
By  the  wall  of  Pere-la-Chaise. 

There  were  desperate  men,  wild  women, 

And  dark-eyed  Amazon  girls, 
And  one  little  boy,  with  a  peach-down  cheek 

And  yellow  clustering  curls. 

The  captain  seized  the  little  waif, 
And  said,  "What  dost  thou  here?" 

"Sapristi,  Citizen  captain! 
I'm  a  Communist,  my  dear!" 


A   TRIUMPH    OF    ORDER.  8 1 


"Very  well!      Then  you  die  with  the  others! 

—  "  Very  well !      That 's  my  affair  ; 
But  first  let  me  take  to  my  mother, 

Who  lives  by  the  wine-shop  there, 


ii 


"My  father's  watch.      You  see  it; 

A  gay  old  thing,  is  it  not  ? 
It  would  please  the  old  lady  to  have  it, 

Then  I  '11  come  back  here,  and  be  shot. 


n 


"That  is  the  last  we  shall  see  of  him," 

The  grizzled  captain  grinned, 
As  the  little  man  skimmed  down  the  hill. 

Like  a  swallow  down  the  wind. 


For  the  joy  of  killing  had  lost  its  zest 
In  the  glut  of  those  awful  days, 


82  A  TRIUMPH   OF  ORDER. 

And  Death  writhed,  gorged  like  a  greedy  snake, 
From  the  Arch  to  Pere-la-Chaise. 

But  before  the  last  platoon  had  fired, 
The  child's  shrill  voice  was  heard; 

"Houp-la!  the  old  girl  made  such  a  row 
I  feared  I  should  break  my  word." 

Against  the  bullet-pitted  wall 

He  took  his  place  with  the  rest, 
A  button  was  lost  from  his  ragged  blouse, 

Which  showed  his  soft  white  breast. 


"Now  blaze  away,  my  children! 

With  your  little  one-two-three ! " 
The  Chassepots  tore  the  stout  young  heart, 

And  saved  Society. 


ERNST  OF  EDELSHEIM. 

T  'LL  tell  the  story,  kissing 

This  white  hand  for  my  pains: 
No  sweeter  heart,  nor  falser 
E'er  filled  such  fine,  blue  veins. 


I'll  sing  a  song  of  true  love, 
My  Lilith  dear!   to  you; 

Contraria  contrariis  — 
The  rule  is  old  and  true. 


The  happiest  of  all  lovers 
Was  Ernst  of  Edelsheim; 

And  why  he  was  the  happiest, 
I  '11  tell  you  in  my  rhyme. 


84  ERNST   OF    EDELSHEIM. 

One  summer  night  he  wandered 

Within  a  lonely  glade, 
And,  couched  in  moss  and  moonlight, 

He  found  a  sleeping  maid. 


The  stars  of  midnight  sifted 
Above  her  sands  of  gold ; 

She  seemed  a  slumbering  statue, 
So  fair  and  white  and  cold. 


Fair  and  white  and  cold  she  lay 
Beneath  the  starry  skies; 

Rosy  was  her  waking 
Beneath  the  Ritter's  eyes. 

He  won  her  drowsy  fancy, 
He  bore  her  to  his  towers, 


ERNST    OF    EDELSHEIM.  85 

And  swift  with  love  and  laughter 
Flew  morning's  purpled  hours. 

But  when  the  thickening  sunbeams 
Had  drunk  the  gleaming  dew, 

A  misty  cloud  of  sorrow 

Swept  o'er  her  eyes'  deep  blue. 

She  hung  upon  the  Ritter's  neck, 
She  wept  with  love  and  pain, 

She  showered  her  sweet,  warm  kisses 
Like  fragrant  summer  rain. 

"I  am  no  Christian  soul,"  she  sobbed, 

As  in  his  arms  she  lay; 
"I'm  half  the  day  a  woman, 

A  serpent  half  the  day. 


86  ERNST    OF    EDELSHEIM. 

"And  when  from  yonder  bell-tower 
Rings  out  the  noonday  chime, 
Farewell !   farewell  forever, 
Sir  Ernst  of  Edelsheim  !  " 


"Ah!  not  farewell  forever!" 

The  Ritter  wildly  cried, 
"I  will  be  saved  or  lost  with  thee, 

My  lovely  Wili-Bride ! " 

Loud  from  the  lordly  bell-tower 
Rang  out  the  noon  of  day, 

And  from  the  bower  of  roses 
A  serpent  slid  away. 

But  when  the  mid-watch  moonlight 
Was  shimmering  through  the  grove, 


ERNST   OF    EDELSHEIM.  8? 

He  clasped  his  bride  thrice  dowered 
With  beauty  and  with  love. 

The  happiest  of  all  lovers 

Was  Ernst  of  Edelsheim  — 
His  true  love  was  a  serpent 

Only  half  the  time! 


MY  CASTLE   IN   SPAIN. 

r  I  ^HERE  was  never  a  castle  seen 
So  fair  as  mine  in  Spain: 
It  stands  embowered  in  green, 

Crowning  the  gentle  slope 
Of  a  hill  by  the  Xenil's  shore, 
And  at  eve  its  shade  flaunts  o'er 

The  storied  Vega  plain, 
And  its  towers  are  hid  in  the  mists  of  Hope ; 

And  I  toil  through  years  of  pain 

Its  glimmering  gates  to  gain. 


In  visions  wild  and  sweet 
Sometimes  its  courts  I  greet : 

Sometimes  in  joy  its  shining  halls 

I  tread  with  favored  feet ; 


MY   CASTLE    IN    SPAIN.  89 

But  never  my  eyes  in  the  light  of  day 

Were  blest  with  its  ivied  walls, 
Where  the  marble  white  and  the  granite  gray 
Turn  gold  alike  when  the  sunbeams  play, 

When  the  soft  day  dimly  falls. 

I  know  in  its  dusky  rooms 

Are  treasures  rich  and  rare ; 
The  spoil  of  Eastern  looms, 

And  whatever  of  bright  and  fair 
Painters  divine  have  caught  and  won 

From  the  vault  of  Italy's  air: 
White  gods  in  Phidian  stone 

People  the  haunted  glooms  ; 
And  the  song  of  immortal  singers 
Like  a  fragrant  memory  lingers, 

I  know,  in  the  echoing  rooms. 


90  MY   CASTLE    IN    SPAIN. 

But  nothing  of  these,  my  soul ! 

Nor  castle,  nor  treasures,  nor  skies, 
Nor  the  waves  of  the  river  that  roll 

With  a  cadence  faint  and  sweet 

In  peace  by  its  marble  feet  — 
Nothing  of  these  is  the  goal 

For  which  my  whole  heart  sighs. 
'Tis  the  pearl  gives  worth  to  the  shell 

The  pearl  I  would  die  to  gain ; 
For  there  does  my  lady  dwell, 
My  love  that  I  love  so  well  — 

The  Queen  whose  gracious  reign 

Makes  glad  my  Castle  in  Spain. 

Her  face  so  pure  and  fair 

Sheds  light  in  the  shady  places, 


MY   CASTLE    IN   SPAIN.  91 

And  the  spell  of  her  girlish  graces 

Holds  charmed  the  happy  air. 
A  breath  of  purity 

Forever  before  her  flies, 
And  ill  things  cease  to  be 

In  the  glance  of  her  honest  eyes. 
Around  her  pathway  flutter, 

Where  her  dear  feet  wander  free 

In  youth's  pure  majesty, 

The  wings  of  the  vague  desires ; 
But  the  thought  that  love  would  utter 

In  reverence  expires. 

Not  yet !  not  yet  shall  I  see 

That  face  which  shines  like  a  star 
O'er  my  storm-swept  life  afar, 

Transfigured  with  love  for  me. 


92  MY   CASTLE    IN    SPAIN. 

Toiling,  forgetting,  and  learning 
With  labor  and  vigils  and  prayers, 

Pure  heart  and  resolute  will, 

At  last  I  shall  climb  the  hill 
And  breathe  the  enchanted  airs 
Where  the  light  of  my  life  is  burning 

Most  lovely  and  fair  and  free, 
Where  alone  in  her  youth  and  beauty, 
And  bound  by  her  fate's  sweet  duty, 

Unconscious  she  waits  for  me. 


SISTER  SAINT  LUKE. 

QHE  lived  shut  in  by  flowers  and  trees 

And  shade  of  gentle  bigotries. 
On  this  side  lay  the  trackless  sea, 
On  that  the  great  world's  mystery ; 
But  all  unseen  and  all  unguessed 
They  could  not  break  upon  her  rest. 
The  world's  far  splendors  gleamed  and  flashed, 
Afar  the  wild  seas  foamed  and  dashed ; 
But  in  her  small,  dull  Paradise, 
Safe  housed  from  rapture  or  surprise, 
Nor  day  nor  night  had  power  to  fright 
The  peace  of  God  that  filled  her  eyes. 


NEW  AND    OLD. 


o 


MILES   KEOGH'S   HORSE. 

N  the  bluff  of  the  Little  Big-Horn, 
At  the  close  of  a  woful  day, 

Custer  and  his  Three  Hundred 
In  death  and  silence  lay. 


Three  Hundred  to  three  Thousand! 

They  had  bravely  fought  and  bled  ; 
For  such  is  the  will  of  Congress 

When  the  White  man  meets  the  Red. 


The  White  men  are  ten  millions, 
The  thriftiest  under  the  sun; 

The  Reds  are  fifty  thousand, 
And  warriors  every  one. 


98  miles  keogh's  horse. 

So  Custer  and  all  his  fighting  men 
Lay  under  the  evening  skies, 

Staring  up  at  the  tranquil  heaven 
With  wide,  accusing  eyes. 

And  of  all  that  stood  at  noonday 
In  that  fiery  scorpion  ring, 

Miles  Keogh's  horse  at  evening 
Was  the  only  living  thing. 

Alone  from  that  field  of  slaughter, 
Where  lay  the  three  hundred  slain, 

The  horse  Comanche  wandered, 
With  Keogh's  blood  on  his  mane. 


And  Sturgis  issued  this  order, 
Which  future  times  shall  read, 


MILES    KEOGH  S    HORSE.  99 

While  the  love  and  honor  of  comrades 
Are  the  soul  of  the  soldier's  creed. 


He  said  — 

Let  the  horse  Comanche 

Henceforth  till  he  shall  die, 
Be  kindly  cherished  and  cared  for 

By  the  Seventh  Cavalry 


He  shall  do  no  labor ;  he  never  shall  know 

The  touch  of  spur  or  rein  ; 
Nor  shall  his  back  be  ever  crossed 

By  living  rider  again. 


And  at  regimental  formation 
Of  the  Seventh  Cavalry -, 


100  MILES   KEOGH'S   HORSE. 


Comanche  draped  in  mourning  and  led 
By  a  trooper  of  Company  I, 


Shall  parade  with  the  Regiment  I 

Thus  it  was 

Commanded  and  thus  done, 
By  order  of  General  Sturgis,  signed 

By  Adjutant  Garlington. 

Even  as  the  sword  of  Custer, 

In  his  disastrous  fall, 
Flashed  out  a  blaze  that  charmed  the  world 

And  glorified  his  pall, 

This  order,  issued  amid  the  gloom 
That  shrouds  our  army's  name, 


MILES    KEOGH'S    HORSE.  IOI 

When  all  foul  beasts  are  free  to  rend 
And  tear  its  honest  fame, 

Shall  prove  to  a  callous  people 

That  the  sense  of  a  soldier's  worth, 

That  the  love  of  comrades,  the  honor  of  arms, 
Have  not  yet  perished  from  earth. 


THE  ADVANCE  GUARD. 

TN  the  dream  of  the  Northern  poets, 

The  brave  who  in  battle  die 
Fight  on  in  shadowy  phalanx 

In  the  field  of  the  upper  sky ; 
And  as  we  read  the  sounding  rhyme, 

The  reverent  fancy  hears 
The  ghostly  ring  of  the  viewless  swords 

And  the  clash  of  the  spectral  spears. 


We  think  with  imperious  questionings 
Of  the  brothers  whom  we  have  lost, 

And  we  strive  to  track  in  death's  mystery 
The  flight  of  each  valiant  ghost. 


THE   ADVANCE    GUARD.  IO3 

The  Northern  myth  comes  back  to  us, 
And  we  feel,  through  our  sorrow's  night, 

That  those  young  souls  are  striving  still 
Somewhere  for  the  truth  and  light. 

It  was  not  their  time  for  rest  and  sleep; 

Their  hearts  beat  high  and  strong  ; 
In  their  fresh  veins  the  blood  of  youth 

Was  singing  its  hot,  sweet  song. 
The  open  heaven  bent  over  them, 

Mid  flowers  their  lithe  feet  trod, 
Their  lives  lay  vivid  in  light,  and  blest 

By  the  smiles  of  women  and  God. 

Again  they  come!    Again  I  hear 

The  tread  of  that  goodly  band ; 
I  know  the  flash  of  Ellsworth's  eye 

And  the  grasp  of  his  hard,  warm  hand  ; 


104  THE   ADVANCE   GUARD. 

And  Putnam,  and  Shaw,  of  the  lion-heart, 
And  an  eye  like  a  Boston  girl's ; 

And  I  see  the  light  of  heaven  which  lay 
On  Ulric  Dahlgren's  curls. 

There  is  no  power  in  the  gloom  of  hell 

To  quench  those  spirits'  fire  ; 
There  is  no  power  in  the  bliss  of  heaven 

To  bid  them  not  aspire ; 
But  somewhere  in  the  eternal  plan 

That  strength,  that  life  survive, 
And  like  the  files  on  Lookout's  crest, 

Above  death's  clouds  they  strive. 

A  chosen  corps,  they  are  marching  on 

In  a  wider  field  than  ours  ; 
Those  bright  battalions  still  fulfill 

The  scheme  of  the  heavenly  powers; 


THE   ADVANCE   GUARD.  IO5 

And  high  brave  thoughts  float  down  to  us, 

The  echoes  of  that  far  fight, 
Like  the  flash  of  a  distant  picket's  gun 

Through  the  shades  of  the  severing  night. 

No  fear  for  them  !     In  our  lower  field 

Let  us  keep  our  arms  unstained, 
That  at  last  we  be  worthy  to  stand  with  them 

On  the  shining  heights  they've  gained. 
We  shall  meet  and  greet  in  closing  ranks 

In  Time's  declining  sun, 
When  the  bugles  of  God  shall  sound  recall 

And  the  battle  of  life  be  won. 


LOVE'S  PRAYER. 

TF  Heaven  would  hear  my  prayer, 
My  dearest  wish  would  be, 

Thy  sorrows  not  to  share 

But  take  them  all  on  me ; 

If  Heaven  would  hear  my  prayer. 

I'd  beg  with  prayers  and  sighs 

That  never  a  tear  might  flow 

From  out  thy  lovely  eyes, 

If  Heaven  might  grant  it  so; 

Mine  be  the  tears  and  sighs. 


No  cloud  thy  brow  should  cover, 
But  smiles  each  other  chase 


.1 


LOVE  S    PRAYER.  107 


From  lips  to  eyes  all  over 

Thy  sweet  and  sunny  face; 
The  clouds  my  heart  should  cover. 


That  all  thy  path  be  light 

Let  darkness  fall  on  me ; 

If  all  thy  days  be  bright, 

Mine  black  as  night  could  be; 

My  love  would  light  my  night. 

For  thou  art  more  than  life, 

And  if  our  fate  should  set 

Life  and  my  love  at  strife, 

How  could  I  then  forget 

I  love  thee  more  than  life? 


CHRISTINE. 

'TPHE  beauty  of  the  northern  dawns, 
Their  pure,  pale  light  is  thine; 
Yet  all  the  dreams  of  tropic  nights 
Within  thy  blue  eyes  shine. 

Not  statelier  in  their  prisoning  seas 
The  icebergs  grandly  move, 

But  in  thy  smile  is  youth  and  joy, 
And  in  thy  voice  is  love. 


Thou  art  like  Hecla's  crest  that  stands 
So  lonely,  proud,  and  high, 

No  earthly  thing  may  come  between 
Her  summit  and  the  sky. 


CHRISTINE.  IO9 

The  sun  in  vain  may  strive  to  melt 

Her  crown  of  virgin  snow  — 

But  the  great  heart  of  the  mountain  glows 
With  deathless  fire  below. 


EXPECTATION. 

T}  OLL  on,  O  shining  sun, 

To  the  far  seas, 
Bring  down,  ye  shades  of  eve, 

The  soft,  salt  breeze! 
Shine  out,  O  stars,  and  light 
My  darling's  pathway  bright, 
As  through  the  summer  night 

She  comes  to  me. 


No  beam  of  any  star 

Can  match  her  eyes; 

Her  smile  the  bursting  day 
In  light  outvies. 


EXPECTATION.  Ill 


Her  voice  —  the  sweetest  thing 
Heard  by  the  raptured  spring 
When  waking  wild-woods  ring- 
She  comes  to  me. 


Ye  stars,  more  swiftly  wheel, 
O'er  earth's  still  breast; 

More  wildly  plunge  and  reel 
In  the  dim  west ! 

The  earth  is  lone  and  lorn, 
Till  the  glad  day  be  born, 
Till  with  the  happy  morn 
She  comes  to  me. 


TO  FLORA. 

\T  7HEN  April  woke  the  drowsy  flowers, 

And  vagrant  odors  thronged  the  breeze, 
And  bluebirds  wrangled  in  the  bowers, 

And  daisies  flashed  along  the  leas, 
And  faint  arbutus  strove  among 

Dead  winter's  leaf-strewn  wreck  to  rise, 
And  nature's  sweetly  jubilant  song 

Went  murmuring  up  the  sunny  skies, 
Into  this  cheerful  world  you  came, 
And  gained  by  right  your  vernal  name. 

I  think  the  springs  have  changed  of  late, 
For  "  Arctics "  are  my  daily  wear, 

The  skies  are  turned  to  cold  gray  slate, 
And  zephyrs  are  but  draughts  of  air; 


TO   FLORA.  113 

But  you  make  up  whate'er  wc  lack, 

When  we,  too  rarely,  come  together, 
More  potent  than  the  almanac, 

You  bring  the  ideal  April  weather; 
When  you  are  with  us  we  defy 
The  blustering  air,  the  lowering  sky; 
In  spite  of  Winter's  icy  darts, 
We  've  spring  and  sunshine  in  our  hearts. 


In  fine,  upon  this  April  day, 

This  deep  conundrum  I  will  bring : 
Tell  me  the  two  good  reasons,  pray, 

I  have,  to  say  you  are  like  spring? 

[You  give  it  up  ?]     Because  we  love  you 
And  see  so  very  little  of  you. 


A   HAUNTED   ROOM. 

TN  the  dim  chamber  whence  but  yesterday 
Passed  my  beloved,  filled  with  awe  I  stand ; 
And  haunting  Loves  fluttering  on  every  hand 

Whisper  her  praises  who  is  far  away. 

A  thousand  delicate  fancies  glance  and  play 
On  every  object  which  her  robes  have  fanned, 
And  tenderest  thoughts  and  hopes  bloom  and 
expand 

In  the  sweet  memory  of  her  beauty's  ray. 

Ah  !    could    that   glass    but    hold    the    faintest 
trace 
Of  all  the  loveliness  once  mirrored  there, 
The  clustering  glory  of  the  shadowy  hair 


A    HAUNTED    ROOM.  115 

That  framed  so  well  the  dear  young  angel  face ! 

But  no,  it  shows  my  own  face,  full  of  care, 
And  my  heart  is  her  beauty's  dwelling-place. 


DREAMS. 

LOVE  a  woman  tenderly, 
But  cannot  know  if  she  loves  me. 
I  press  her  hand,  her  lips  I  kiss, 
But  still  love's  full  assurance  miss. 
Our  waking  life  forever  seems 
Cleft  by  a  veil  of  doubt  and  dreams. 

But  love  and  night  and  sleep  combine 
In  dreams  to  make  her  wholly  mine. 
A  sure  love  lights  her  eyes'  deep  blue, 
Her  hands  and  lips  are  warm  and  true. 
Always  the  fact  unreal  seems, 
And  truth  I  find  alone  in  dreams. 


THE   LIGHT   OF   LOVE. 

1   "ACH  shining  light  above  us 

Has  its  own  peculiar  grace; 
But  every  light  of  heaven 
Is  in  my  darling's  face. 

For  it  is  like  the  sunlight, 

So  strong  and  pure  and  warm, 

That  folds  all  good  and  happy  things, 
And  guards  from  gloom  and  harm. 

And  it  is  like  the  moonlight, 

So  holy  and  so  calm ; 
The  rapt  peace  of  a  summer  night, 

When  soft  winds  die  in  balm. 


Il8  THE   LIGHT   OF   LOVE. 

And  it  is  like  the  starlight ; 

For,  love  her  as  I  may, 
She  dwells  still  lofty  and  serene 

In  mystery  far  away. 


QUAND   MEME. 

T    STROVE,  like  Israel,  with  my  youth, 

And  said,  Till  thou  bestow 
Upon  my  life  Love's  joy  and  truth, 

I  will  not  let  thee  go. 


And  sudden  on  my  night  there  woke 

The  trouble  of  the  dawn ; 
Out  of  the  east  the  red  light  broke, 
To  broaden  on  and  on. 


And  now  let  death  be  far  or  nigh, 
Let  fortune  gloom  or  shine, 

I  cannot  all  untimely  die, 

For  love,  for  love  is  mine. 


120  QUAND    MEME. 

My  days  are  tuned  to  finer  chords, 

And  lit  by  higher  suns ; 
Through  all  my  thoughts  and  all  my  words 

A  purer  purpose  runs. 


The  blank  page  of  my  heart  grows  rife 
With  wealth  of  tender  lore ; 

Her  image,  stamped  upon  my  life, 
Gives  value  evermore. 


She  is  so  noble,  firm,  and  true, 
I  drink  truth  from  her  eyes, 

As  violets  gain  the  heaven's  own  blue 
In  gazing  at  the  skies. 

No  matter  if  my  hands  attain 
The  golden  crown  or  cross ; 


QUAND    MEME.  121 

Only  to  love  is  such  a  gain 
That  losing  is  not  loss. 

And  thus  whatever  fate  betide 

Of  rapture  or  of  pain, 
If  storm  or  sun  the  future  hide, 

My  love  is  not  in  vain. 

So  only  thanks  are  on  my  lips  ; 

And  through  my  love  I  see 
My  earliest  dreams,  like  freighted  ships, 

Come  sailing  home  to  me. 


WORDS. 

\\  7 HEN  violets  were  springing 

And  sunshine  filled  the  day, 
And  happy  birds  were  singing 

The  praises  of  the  May, 
A  word  came  to  me,  blighting 

The  beauty  of  the  scene, 
And  in  my  heart  was  winter, 

Though  all  the  trees  were  green. 

Now  down  the  blast  go  sailing 

The  dead  leaves,  brown  and  sere; 

The  forests  are  bewailing 
The  dying  of  the  year ; 


WORDS.  123 


A  word  comes  to  me,  lighting 
With  rapture  all  the  air, 

And  in  my  heart  is  summer, 

Though  all  the  trees  are  bare. 


THE  STIRRUP  CUP. 

TV  yT  Y  short  and  happy  day  is  done, 

The  long  and  dreary  night  comes  on ; 
And  at  my  door  the  Pale  Horse  stands, 
To  carry  me  to  unknown  lands. 

His  whinny  shrill,  his  pawing  hoof, 
Sound  dreadful  as  a  gathering  storm ; 
And  I  must  leave  this  sheltering  roof, 
And  joys  of  life  so  soft  and  warm. 

Tender  and  warm  the  joys  of  life,  — 
Good  friends,  the  faithful  and  the  true  ; 
My  rosy  children  and  my  wife, 
So  sweet  to  kiss,  so  fair  to  view. 


THE    STIRRUP    CUP.  1 25 

So  sweet  to  kiss,  so  fair  to  view, — 
The  night  comes  down,  the  lights  burn  blue ; 
And  at  my  door  the  Pale  Horse  stands, 
To  bear  me  forth  to  unknown  lands. 


A  DREAM   OF  BRIC-A-BRAC. 
[C.  K.  loquitur.] 

T  DREAMED  I  was  in  fair  Niphon. 

Amid  tea-fields  I  journeyed  on, 
Reclined  in  my  jinrikishaw; 
Across  the  rolling  plains  I  saw 
The  lordly  Fusi-yama  rise, 
His  blue  cone  lost  in  bluer  skies. 


At  last  I  bade  my  bearers  stop 
Before  what  seemed  a  china-shop. 
I  roused  myself  and  entered  in. 
A  fearful  joy,  like  some  sweet  sin, 
Pierced  through  my  bosom  as  I  gazed, 
Entranced,  transported,  and  amazed. 


A    DREAM    OF    BRIC-A-BRAC.  127 

For  all  the  house  was  but  one  room, 
And  in  its  clear  and  grateful  gloom, 
Filled  with  all  odors  strange  and  strong 
That  to  the  wondrous  East  belong, 
I  saw  above,  around,  below, 
A  sight  to  make  the  warm  heart  glow, 
And  leave  the  eager  soul  no  lack, — 
An  endless  wealth  of  bric-a-brac. 


I  saw  bronze  statues,  old  and  rare, 
Fashioned  by  no  mere  mortal  skill, 
With  robes  that  fluttered  in  the  air, 
Blown  out  by  Art's  eternal  will; 
And  delicate  ivory  netsukes, 
Richer  in  tone  than  Chedder  cheese, 
Of  saints  and  hermits,  cats  and  dogs, 

Grim  warriors  and  ecstatic  frogs. 


128  A   DREAM   OF    BRIC-A-BRAC. 

And  here  and  there  those  wondrous  masks, 

More  living  flesh  than  sandal-wood, 

Where  the  full  soul  in  pleasure  basks 

And  dreams  of  love,  the  only  good. 

The  walls  were  all  with  pictures  hung: 

Gay  villas  bright  in  rain-washed  air, 

Trees  to  whose  boughs  brown  monkeys  clung, 

Outlineless  dabs  of  fuzzy  hair. 

And  all  about  the  opulent  shelves 

Littered  with  porcelain  beyond  price: 

Imari  pots  arrayed  themselves 

Beside  Ming  dishes ;   grain-of-rice 

Vied  with  the  Royal  Satsuma, 

Proud  of  its  sallow  ivory  beam ; 

And  Kaga's  Thousand  Hermits  lay 

Tranced  in  some  punch-bowl's  golden  gleam. 

Over  bronze  censers,  black  with  age, 

The  five-clawed  dragons  strife  engage; 


A   DREAM    OF    BRIC-A-BRAC.  1 29 


A  curled  and  insolent  Dog  of  Foo 
Sniffs  at  the  smoke  aspiring  through. 


In  what  old  days,  in  what  far  lands, 
What  busy  brains,  what  cunning  hands, 
With  what  quaint  speech,  what  alien  thought, 
Strange  fellow-men  these  marvels  wrought! 


As  thus  I  mused,  I  was  aware 
There  grew  before  my  eager  eyes 
A  little  maid  too  bright  and  fair, 
Too  strangely  lovely  for  surprise. 
It  seemed  the  beauty  of  the  place 
Had  suddenly  become  concrete, 
So  full  was  she  of  Orient  grace, 
From  her  slant  eyes  and  burnished  face 
Down  to  her  little  gold-bronze  feet. 


130  A    DREAM    OF    BRIC-A-BRAC. 

She  was  a  girl  of  old  Japan; 

Her  small  hand  held  a  gilded  fan, 

Which  scattered  fragrance  through  the  room; 

Her  cheek  was  rich  with  pallid  bloom, 

Her  eye  was  dark  with  languid  fire, 

Her  red  lips  breathed  a  vague  desire; 

Her  teeth,  of  pearl  inviolate, 

Sweetly  proclaimed  her  maiden  state. 

Her  garb  was  stiff  with  broidered  gold 

Twined  with  mysterious  fold  on  fold, 

That  gave  no  hint  where,  hidden  well, 

Her  dainty  form  might  warmly  dwell,  ■*- 

A  pearl  within  too  large  a  shell. 

So  quaint,  so  short,  so  lissome,  she, 

It  seemed  as  if  it  well  might  be 

Some  jocose  god,  with  sportive  whirl, 

Had  taken  up  a  long  lithe  girl 


A    DREAM    OF    BRIC-A-BRAC.  I3I 

And  tied  a  graceful  knot  in  her. 

I  tried  to  speak,  and  found,  oh,  bliss ! 

I  needed  no  interpreter ; 

I  knew  the  Japanese  for  kiss, — 

I  had  no  other  thought  but  this ; 

And  she,  with  smile  and  blush  divine, 

Kind  to  my  stammering  prayer  did  seem  ; 

My  thought  was  hers,  and  hers  was  mine, 

In  the  swift  logic  of  my  dream. 

My  arms  clung  round  her  slender  waist, 

Through  gold  and  silk  the  form  I  traced, 

And  glad  as  rain  that  follows  drouth, 

I  kissed  and  kissed  her  bright  red  mouth. 

What  ailed  the  girl  ?      No  loving  sigh 
Heaved  the  round  bosom ;   in  her  eye 
Trembled  no  tear ;   from  her  dear  throat 
Bubbled  a  sweet  and  silvery  note 


132  A   DREAM   OF   BRIC-A-BRAC. 

Of  girlish  laughter,  shrill  and  clear, 
That  all  the  statues  seemed  to  hear. 
The  bronzes  tinkled  laughter  fine; 
I  heard  a  chuckle  argentine 
Ring  from  the  silver  images ; 
Even  the  ivory  netsukes 
Uttered  in  every  silent  pause 
Dry,  bony  laughs  from  tiny  jaws; 
The  painted  monkeys  on  the  wall 
Waked  up  with  chatter  impudent; 
Pottery,  porcelain,  bronze,  and  all 
Broke  out  in  ghostly  merriment, — 
Faint  as  rain  pattering  on  dry  leaves, 
Or  cricket's  chirp  on  summer  eves. 

And  suddenly  upon  my  sight 

There  grew  a  portent:  left  and  right, 


A    DREAM    OF    BRIC-A-BRAC.  1 33 

On  every  side,  as  if  the  air 

Had  taken  substance  then  and  there, 

In  every  sort  of  form  and  face, 

A  throng  of  tourists  filled  the  place. 

I  saw  a  Frenchman's  sneering  shrug; 

A  German  countess,  in  one  hand 

A  sky-blue  string  which  held  a  pug, 

With  the  other  a  fiery  face  she  fanned; 

A  Yankee  with  a  soft  felt  hat; 

A  Coptic  priest  from  Ararat; 

An  English  girl  with  cheeks  of  rose; 

A  Nihilist  with  Socratic  nose ; 

Paddy  from  Cork  with  baggage  light 

And  pockets  stuffed  with  dynamite; 

A  haughty  Southern  Readjuster 

Wrapped  in  his  pride  and  linen  duster; 

Two  noisy  New  York  stock-brokers 

And  twenty  British  globe-trotters. 


134  A    DREAM    OF    BRIC-A-BRAC. 

To  my  disgust  and  vast  surprise 

They  turned  on  me  lack-lustre  eyes, 

And  each  with  dropped  and  wagging  jaw 

Burst  out  into  a  wild  guffaw : 

They  laughed  with  huge  mouths  opened  wide; 

They  roared  till  each  one  held  his  side ; 

They  screamed  and  writhed  with  brutal  glee, 

With  fingers  rudely  stretched  to  me, — 

Till  lo !   at  once  the  laughter  died, 

The  tourists  faded  into  air; 

None  but  my  fair  maid  lingered  there, 

Who  stood  demurely  by  my  side. 

"Who  were  your  friends ?"  I  asked  the  maid, 

Taking  a  tea-cup  from  its  shelf. 

"This  audience  is  disclosed,"  she  said, 

"Whenever  a  man  makes  a  fool  of  himself." 


LIBERTY. 

TT  THAT  man  is  there  so  bold  that  he  should 

say 
"Thus,  and  thus  only,  would  I  have  the  sea"? 
For  whether  lying  calm  and  beautiful, 
Clasping  the  earth  in  love,  and  throwing  back 
The  smile  of  heaven  from  waves  of  amethyst; 
Or  whether,  freshened  by  the  busy  winds, 
It  bears  the  trade  and  navies  of  the  world 
To  ends  of  use  or  stern  activity; 
Or  whether,  lashed  by  tempests,  it  gives  way 
To  elemental  fury,  howls  and  roars 
At  all  its  rocky  barriers,  in  wild  lust 
Of  ruin  drinks  the  blood  of  living  things, 


I36  LIBERTY. 

And  strews  its  wrecks  o'er   leagues  of   desolate 

shore,  — 
Always  it  is  the  sea,  and  men  bow  down 
Before  its  vast  and  varied  majesty. 

So  all  in  vain  will  timorous  ones  essay 
To  set  the  metes  and  bounds  of  Liberty. 
For  Freedom  is  its  own  eternal  law; 
It  makes  its  own  conditions,  and  in  storm 
Or  calm  alike  fulfills  the  unerring  Will. 
Let  us  not  then  despise  it  when  it  lies 
Still  as  a  sleeping  lion,  while  a  swarm 
Of  gnat-like  evils  hover  round  its  head; 
Nor  doubt  it  when  in  mad,  disjointed  times 
It  shakes  the  torch  of  terror,  and  its  cry 
Shrills  o'er  the  quaking  earth,  and  in  the  flame 
Of  riot  and  war  we  see  its  awful  form 


LIBERTY.  I37 

Rise  by  the  scaffold,  where  the  crimson  axe 
Rings  down  its  grooves  the  knell   of   shuddering 

kings. 
Forever  in  thine  eyes,  O  Liberty, 
Shines  that  high  light  whereby  the  world  is  saved, 
And  though  thou  slay  us,  we  will  trust  in  thee ! 


THE  WHITE  FLAG. 

T   SENT  my  love  two  roses,  —  one 

As  white  as  driven  snow, 
And  one  a  blushing  royal  red, 
A  flaming  Jacqueminot. 

I  meant  to  touch  and  test  my  fate ; 

That  night  I  should  divine, 
The  moment  I  should  see  my  love, 

If  her  true  heart  were  mine. 


For  if  she  holds  me  dear,  I  said, 
She'll  wear  my  blushing  rose; 

If  not,  she'll  wear  my  cold  Lamarque, 
As  white  as  winter's  snows. 


THE   WHITE    FLAG.  1 39 

My  heart  sank  when  I  met  her:  sure 

I  had  been  overbold, 
For  on  her  breast  my  pale  rose  lay 

In  virgin  whiteness  cold. 


Yet  with  low  words  she  greeted  me, 
With  smiles  divinely  tender; 

Upon  her  cheek  the  red  rose  dawned, — 
The  white  rose  meant  surrender. 


THE   LAW  OF  DEATH. 

np*HE  song  of  Kilvani :  fairest  she 

In  all  the  land  of  Savatthi. 
She  had  one  child,  as  sweet  and  gay 
And  dear  to  her  as  the  light  of  day. 
She  was  so  young,  and  he  so  fair, 
The  same  bright  eyes  and  the  same  dark  hair; 
To  see  them  by  the  blossomy  way, 
They  seemed  two  children  at  their  play. 

There  came  a  death-dart  from  the  sky, 
Kilvani  saw  her  darling  die. 
The  glimmering  shade  his  eyes  invades, 
Out  of  his  cheek  the  red  bloom  fades ; 


THE    LAW    OF    DEATH.  I4I 

His  warm  heart  feels  the  icy  chill, 
The  round  limbs  shudder,  and  are  still. 
And  yet  Kilvani  held  him  fast 
Long  after  life's  last  pulse  was  past, 
As  if  her  kisses  could  restore 
The  smile  gone  out  forevermore. 

But  when  she  saw  her  child  was  dead, 
She  scattered  ashes  on  her  head, 
And  seized  the  small  corpse,  pale  and  sweet, 
And  rushing  wildly  through  the  street, 
She  sobbing  fell  at  Buddha's  feet. 


"Master,  all-helpful,  help  me  now! 
Here  at  thy  feet  I  humbly  bow ; 
Have  mercy,  Buddha,  help  me  now ! " 
She  groveled  on  the  marble  floor, 
And  kissed  the  dead  child  o'er  and  o'er. 


142  THE   LAW   OF   DEATH. 

And  suddenly  upon  the  air 
There  fell  the  answer  to  her  prayer: 
"Bring  me  to-night  a  lotus  tied 
With   thread    from   a    house   where   none    has 
died." 


She  rose,  and  laughed  with  thankful  joy, 
Sure  that  the  god  would  save  the  boy. 
She  found  a  lotus  by  the  stream ; 
She  plucked  it  from  its  noonday  dream. 
And  then  from  door  to  door  she  fared, 
To  ask  what  house  by  Death  was  spared. 
Her  heart  grew  cold  to  see  the  eyes 
Of  all  dilate  with  slow  surprise : 
"  Kilvani,  thou  hast  lost  thy  head ; 
Nothing  can  help  a  child  that's  dead. 
There  stands  not  by  the  Ganges'  side 


THE    LAW    OF    DEATH.  143 

A  house  where  none  hath  ever  died." 
Thus,  through  the  long  and  weary  day, 
From  every  door  she  bore  away 
Within  her  heart,  and  on  her  arm, 
A  heavier  load,  a  deeper  harm. 
By  gates  of  gold  and  ivory, 
By  wattled  huts  of  poverty, 
The  same  refrain  heard  poor  Kilvani, 
The  living  are  few,  the  dead  are  many. 

The  evening  came  —  so  still  and  fleet  — 
And  overtook  her  hurrying  feet. 
And,  heartsick,  by  the  sacred  fane 
She  fell,  and  prayed  the  god  again. 
She  sobbed  and  beat  her  bursting  breast : 
"Ah,  thou  hast  mocked  me,  Mightiest! 
Lo !   I  have  wandered  far  and  wide ; 


144  THE   LAW   0F   DEATH. 

There  stands  no  house  where  none  hath  died." 

And  Buddha  answered,  in  a  tone 

Soft  as  a  flute  at  twilight  blown, 

But  grand  as  heaven  and  strong  as  death 

To  him  who  hears  with  ears  of  faith : 

"Child,  thou  art  answered.     Murmur  not! 

Bow,  and  accept  the  common  lot." 


Kilvani  heard  with  reverence  meet, 
And  laid  her  child  at  Buddha's  feet. 


MOUNT  TABOR. 

/^\N  Tabor's  height  a  glory  came, 

And,  shrined  in  clouds  of  lambent  flame, 
The  awestruck,  hushed  disciples  saw 
Christ  and  the  prophets  of  the  law. 
Moses,  whose  grand  and  awful  face 
Of  Sinai's  thunder  bore  the  trace, 
And  wise  Elias,  —  in  his  eyes 
The  shade  of  Israel's  prophecies, — 
Stood  in  that  wide,  mysterious  light, 
Than  Syrian  noons  more  purely  bright, 
One  on  each  hand,  and  high  between 
Shone  forth  the  godlike  Nazarene. 


I46  MOUNT   TABOR. 

They  bowed  their  heads  in  holy  fright,  - 
No  mortal  eyes  could  bear  the  sight, — 
And  when  they  looked  again,  behold ! 
The  fiery  clouds  had  backward  rolled, 
And  borne  aloft  in  grandeur  lonely, 
Nothing  was  left  "  save  Jesus  only." 

Resplendent  type  of  things  to  be! 
We  read  its  mystery  to-day 
With  clearer  eyes  than  even  they, 
The  fisher-saints  of  Galilee. 
We  see  the  Christ  stand  out  between 
The  ancient  law  and  faith  serene, 
Spirit  and  letter;  but  above 
Spirit  and  letter  both  was  Love. 
Led  by  the  hand  of  Jacob's  God, 
Through  wastes  of  eld  a  path  was  trod 


MOUNT   TABOR.  147 

By  which  the  savage  world  could  move 
Upward  through  law  and  faith  to  love. 
And  there  in  Tabor's  harmless  flame 
The  crowning  revelation  came. 
The  old  world  knelt  in  homage  due, 
The  prophets  near  in  reverence  drew, 
Law  ceased  its  mission  to  fulfill, 
And  Love  was  lord  on  Tabor's  hill. 


So  now,  while  creeds  perplex  the  mind 
And  wranglings  load  the  weary  wind, 
When  all  the  air  is  filled  with  words 
And  texts  that  ring  like  clashing  swords, 
Still,  as  for  refuge,  we  may  turn 
Where  Tabor's  shining  glories  burn, — 
The  soul  of  antique  Israel  gone, 
And  nothing  left  but  Christ  alone. 


RELIGION  AND  DOCTRINE. 

TTE  stood  before  the  Sanhedrim; 

The  scowling  rabbis  gazed  at  him. 
He  recked  not  of  their  praise  or  blame  ; 
There  was  no  fear,  there  was  no  shame, 
For  one  upon  whose  dazzled  eyes 
The  whole  world  poured  its  vast  surprise. 
The  open  heaven  was  far  too  near, 
His  first  day's  light  too  sweet  and  clear, 
To  let  him  waste  his  new-gained  ken 
On  the  hate-clouded  face  of  men. 


But  still  they  questioned,  Who  art  thou  ? 
What  hast  thou  been  ?     What  art  thou  now  ? 


RELIGION    AND    DOCTRINE.  149 

Thou  art  not  he  who  yesterday 

Sat  here  and  begged  beside  the  way ; 

For  he  was  blind. 

—  And  I  am  he  ; 
For  I  was  blind,  but  now  I  see. 


He  told  the  story  o'er  and  o'er ; 
It  was  his  full  heart's  only  lore : 
A  prophet  on  the  Sabbath-day 
Had  touched  his  sightless  eyes  with  clay, 
And  made  him  see  who  had  been  blind. 
Their  words  passed  by  him  like  the  wind, 
Which  raves  and  howls,  but  cannot  shock 
The  hundred-fathom-rooted  rock. 


Their  threats  and  fury  all  went  wide*, 
They  could  not  touch  his  Hebrew  pride. 


150  RELIGION    AND   DOCTRINE. 

Their  sneers  at  Jesus  and  His  band, 
Nameless  and  homeless  in  the  land, 
Their  boasts  of  Moses  and  his  Lord, 
All  could  not  change  him  by  one  word. 


/  know  not  what  this  man  may  be, 
Sinner  or  saint ;  but  as  for  me, 
One  thing  I  know,  —  that  I  am  he 
Who  once  was  blind,  and  now  I  see. 


They  were  all  doctors  of  renown, 
The  great  men  of  a  famous  town, 
With  deep  brows,  wrinkled,  broad,  and  wise, 
Beneath  their  wide  phylacteries; 
The  wisdom  of  the  East  was  theirs, 
And  honor  crowned  their  silver  hairs. 
The  man  they  jeered  and  laughed  to  scorn 


RELIGION    AND    DOCTRINE.  I  5  I 

Was  unlearned,  poor,  and  humbly  born ; 
But  he  knew  better  far  than  they 
What  came  to  him  that  Sabbath-day; 
And  what  the  Christ  had  done  for  him 
He  knew,  and  not  the  Sanhedrim. 


SINAI   AND   CALVARY. 

'THHERE  are  two  mountains  hallowed 

By  majesty  sublime, 
Which  rear  their  crests  unconquered 

Above  the  floods  of  Time. 
Uncounted  generations 

Have  gazed  on  them  with  awe,  — 
The  mountain  of  the  Gospel, 

The  mountain  of  the  Law. 


From  Sinai's  cloud  of  darkness 
The  vivid  lightnings  play ; 

They  serve  the  God  of  vengeance, 
The  Lord  who  shall  repay. 


SINAI    AND   CALVARY.  1 53 

Each  fault  must  bring  its  penance, 
Each  sin  the  avenging  blade, 

For  God  upholds  in  justice 

The  laws  that  He  hath  made. 


But  Calvary  stands  to  ransom 

The  earth  from  utter  loss, 
In  shade  than  light  more  glorious, 

The  shadow  of  the  Cross. 
To  heal  a  sick  world's  trouble, 

To  soothe  its  woe  and  pain, 
On  Calvary's  sacred  summit 

The  Paschal  Lamb  was  slain. 


The  boundless  might  of  Heaven 
Its  law  in  mercy  furled, 

As  once  the  bow  of  promise 

O'erarched  a  drowning  world. 


154  SINAI   AND   CALVARY. 

The  Law  said,  As  you  keep  me, 
It  shall  be  done  to  you ; 

But  Calvary  prays,  Forgive  them; 
They  know  not  what  they  do. 


Almighty  God !  direct  us 

To  keep  Thy  perfect  Law! 
O  blessed  Saviour,  help  us 

Nearer  to  Thee  to  draw ! 
Let  Sinai's  thunders  aid  us 

To  guard  our  feet  from  sin ; 
And  Calvary's  light  inspire  us 

The  love  of  God  to  win. 


THE  VISION   OF  ST.  PETER. 

'HRO  Peter  by  night  the  faithfullest  came 

And  said,  •■  We  appeal  to  thee ! 
The  life  of  the  Church  is  in  thy  life ; 
We  pray  thee  to  rise  and  flee. 


"For  the  tyrant's  hand  is  red  with  blood, 
And  his  arm  is  heavy  with  power; 

Thy  bad,  the  head  of  the  Church,  will  fall, 
If  thou  tarry  in  Rome  an  hour." 

Through  the  sleeping  town  St.  Peter  passed 

To  the  wide  Campagna  plain ; 
In  the  starry  light  of  the  Alban  night 

He  drew  free  breath  again: 


156  THE   VISION    OF   ST.    PETER. 

When  across  his  path  an  awful  form 

In  luminous  glory  stood ; 
His  thorn-crowned  brow,  His  hands  and  feet, 

Were  wet  with  immortal  blood. 


The  godlike  sorrow  which  filled  His  eyes 
Seemed  changed  to  a  godlike  wrath, 

As  they  turned  on  Peter,  who  cried  aloud, 
And  sank  to  his  knees  in  the  path. 


"Lord  of  my  life,  my  love,  my  soul! 

Say,  what  wilt  Thou  with  me?" 
A  voice  replied,  "  I  go  to  Rome 

To  be  crucified  for  thee." 

The  apostle  sprang,  all  flushed,  to  his  feet, 
The  vision  had  passed  away; 


THE    VISION    OF    ST.    PETER.  1 57 

The  light  still  lay  on  the  dewy  plain, 
But  the  sky  in  the  east  was  gray. 

To  the  city  walls  St.  Peter  turned, 
And  his  heart  in  his  breast  grew  fire ; 

In  every  vein  the  hot  blood  burned 
With  the  strength  of  one  high  desire. 

And  sturdily  back  he  marched  to  his  death 

Of  terrible  pain  and  shame ; 
And  never  a  shade  of  fear  again 

To  the  stout  apostle  came. 


ISRAEL. 

^T  THEN  by  Jabbok  the  patriarch  waited 

To  learn  on  the  morrow  his  doom, 
And  his  dubious  spirit  debated 

In  darkness  and  silence  and  gloom, 

There  descended  a  Being  with  whom 
He  wrestled  in  agony  sore, 

With  striving  of  heart  and  of  brawn, 
And  not  for  an  instant  forbore 

Till  the  east  gave  a  threat  of  the  dawn  ; 
And  then,  as  the  Awful  One  blessed  him, 

To  his  lips  and  his  spirit  there  came, 
Compelled  by  the  doubts  that  oppressed  him, 
The  cry  that  through  questioning  ages 


ISRAEL.  159 

Has  been  wrung  from  the  hinds  and  the  sages. 
"  Tell  me,  I  pray  Thee,  Thy  name  ! " 

Most  fatal,  most  futile,  of  questions! 

Wherever  the  heart  of  man  beats, 

In  the  spirit's  most  sacred  retreats, 
It  comes  with  its  sombre  suggestions, 

Unanswered  forever  and  aye. 

The  blessing  may  come  and  may  stay, 
For  the  wrestler's  heroic  endeavor ; 
But  the  question,  unheeded  forever, 

Dies  out  in  the  broadening  day. 

In  the  ages  before  our  traditions, 
By  the  altars  of  dark  superstitions, 

The  imperious  question  has  come ; 
When  the  death-stricken  victim  lay  sobbing 


l60  ISRAEL. 


• 


At  the  feet  of  his  slayer  and  priest, 
And  his  heart  was  laid  smoking  and  throbbing 

To  the  sound  of  the  cymbal  and  drum 
On  the  steps  of  the  high  Teocallis ; 

When  the  delicate  Greek  at  his  feast 
Poured  forth  the  red  wine  from  his  chalice 

With  mocking  and  cynical  prayer ; 
When  by  Nile  Egypt  worshiping  lay, 

And  afar,  through  the  rosy,  flushed  air 
The  Memnon  called  out  to  the  day; 
Where  the  Muezzin's  cry  floats  from  his  spire  \ 

In  the  vaulted  Cathedral's  dim  shades, 
Where  the  crushed  hearts  of  thousands  aspire 

Through  art's  highest  miracles  higher, 
This  question  of  questions  invades 
Each  heart  bowed  in  worship  or  shame ; 

In  the  air  where  the  censers  are  swinging, 


ISRAEL.  l6l 

A  voice,  going  up  with  the  singing, 

Cries,  "Tell  me,  I  pray  Thee,  Thy  name!" 

No  answer  came  back,  not  a  word, 
To  the  patriarch  there  by  the  ford  ; 
No  answer  has  come  through  the  ages 
To  the  poets,  the  seers,  and  the  sages 
Who  have  sought  in  the  secrets  of  science 
The  name  and  the  nature  of  God, 
Whether  cursing  in  desperate  defiance 
Or  kissing  his  absolute  rod  ; 
But  the  answer  which  was  and  shall  be, 
"My  name!     Nay,  what  is  it  to  thee?" 
The  search  and  the  question  are  vain. 
By  use  of  the  strength  that  is  in  you, 

» 

By  wrestling  of  soul  and  of  sinew 
The  blessing  of  God  you  may  gain. 


1 62  ISRAEL. 

There  are  lights  in  the  far-gleaming  Heaven 

That  never  will  shine  on  our  eyes ; 
To  mortals  it  may  not  be  given 

To  range  those  inviolate  skies. 
The  mind,  whether  praying  or  scorning, 

That  tempts  those  dread  secrets  shall  fail ; 
But  strive  through  the  night  till  the  morning, 

And  mightily  shalt  thou  prevail. 


THE  CROWS  AT  WASHINGTON. 

QLOW  flapping  to  the  setting  sun 

By  twos  and  threes,  in  wavering  rows* 
As  twilight  shadows  dimly  close, 
The  crows  fly  over  Washington. 

Under  the  crimson  sunset  sky 
Virginian  woodlands  leafless  lie, 
In  wintry  torpor  bleak  and  dun. 

Through  the  rich  vault  of  heaven,  which  shines 

Like  a  warmed  opal  in  the  sun, 
With  wide  advance  in  broken  lines 

The  crows  fly  over  Washington. 


164  THE   CROWS   AT   WASHINGTON. 

Over  the  Capitol's  white  dome, 
Across  the  obelisk  soaring  bare 

To  prick  the  clouds,  they  travel  home, 

Content  and  weary,  winnowing 
With  dusky  vans  the  golden  air, 

Which  hints  the  coming  of  the  spring, 
Though  winter  whitens  Washington. 


The  dim,  deep  air,  the  level  ray 
Of  dying  sunlight  on  their  plumes, 

Give  them  a  beauty  not  their  own ; 
Their  hoarse  notes  fail  and  faint  away ; 

A  rustling  murmur  floating  down 
Blends  sweetly  with  the  thickening  glooms; 
They  touch  with  grace  the  fading  day, 

Slow  flying  over  Washington. 


THE   CROWS   AT   WASHINGTON.  165 

I  stand  and  watch  with  clouded  eyes 
These  dim  battalions  move  along; 

Out  of  the  distance  memory  cries 

Of  days  when  life  and  hope  were  strong, 

When  love  was  prompt  and  wit  was  gay ; 

Even  then,  at  evening,  as  to-day, 

I  watched,  while  twilight  hovered  dim 

Over  Potomac's  curving  rim, 
This  selfsame  flight  of  homing  crows 
Blotting  the  sunset's  fading  rose, 

Above  the  roofs  of  Washington. 


REMORSE. 

QAD  is  the  thought  of  sunniest  days 

Of  love  and  rapture  perished, 
And  shine  through  memory's  tearful  haze 

The  eyes  once  fondliest  cherished. 
Reproachful  is  the  ghost  of  toys 

That  charmed  while  life  was  wasted. 
But  saddest  is  the  thought  of  joys 

That  never  yet  were  tasted. 

Sad  is  the  vague  and  tender  dream 
Of  dead  love's  lingering  kisses, 

To  crushed  hearts  haloed  by  the  gleam 
Of  unreturning  Misses ; 


REMORSE.  I67 

Deep  mourns  the  soul  in  anguished  pride 
For  the  pitiless  death  that  won  them,  — 

But  the  saddest  wail  is  for  lips  that  died 
With  the  virgin  dew  upon  them. 


ESSE   QUAM  VIDERI. 

r  I  ^HE  knightly  legend  of  thy  shield  betrays 
The  moral  of  thy  life  ;  a  forecast  wise, 

And  that  large  honor  that  deceit  defies, 
Inspired  thy  fathers  in  the  elder  days, 
Who  decked  thy  scutcheon  with  that  sturdy  phrase, 

To  be  rather  than  seem.     As  eve's  red  skies 

Surpass  the  morning's  rosy  prophecies, 
Thy  life  to  that  proud  boast  its  answer  pays. 
Scorning  thy  faith  and  purpose  to  defend 

The  ever-mutable  multitude  at  last     . 

Will  hail  the  power  they  did  not  comprehend,  — 

Thy  fame  will  broaden  through  the  centuries  ; 

As,  storm  and  billowy  tumult  overpast, 

The  moon  rules  calmly  o'er  the  conquered  seas. 


WHEN  THE  BOYS  COME  HOME. 

nr^HERE  's  a  happy  time  coming, 

When  the  boys  come  home. 
There  's  a  glorious  day  coming, 

When  the  boys  come  home. 
We  will  end  the  dreadful  story 
Of  this  treason  dark  and  gory 
In  a  sunburst  of  glory, 

When  the  boys  come  home. 

The  day  will  seem  brighter 

When  the  boys  come  home, 
For  our  hearts  will  be  lighter 

When  the  boys  come  home. 


170        WHEN  THE  BOYS  COME  HOME 

Wives  and  sweethearts  will  press  them 
In  their  arms  and  caress  them, 
And  pray  God  to  bless  them, 
When  the  boys  come  home. 

The  thinned  ranks  will  be  proudest 

When  the  boys  come  home, 
And  their  cheer  will  ring  the  loudest 

When  the  boys  come  home. 
The  full  ranks  will  be  shattered, 
And  the  bright  arms  will  be  battered, 
And  the  battle-standards  tattered, 
When  the  boys  come  home. 

Their  bayonets  may  be  rusty, 
When  the  boys  come  home, 

And  their  uniforms  dusty, 
When  the  boys  come  home. 


WHEN  THE  BOYS  COME  HOME.         171 

But  all  shall  see  the  traces 
Of  battle's  royal  graces, 
In  the  brown  and  bearded  faces, 
When  the  boys  come  home. 

Our  love  shall  go  to  meet  them, 

When  the  boys  come  home, 
To  bless  them  and  to  greet  them, 

When  the  boys  come  home; 
And  the  fame  of  their  endeavor 
Time  and  change  shall  not  dissever 
From  the  nation's  heart  forever, 

When  the  boys  come  home. 


LESE-AMOUR. 

."  OW  well  my  heart  remembers 
Beside  these  camp-fire  embers 
The  eyes  that  smiled  so  far  away, — 
The  joy  that  was  November's. 

Her  voice  to  laughter  moving, 

So  merrily  reproving,  — 

We  wandered  through  the  autumn  woods* 

And  neither  thought  of  loving. 

» 
The  hills  with  light  were  glowing, 

The  waves  in  joy  were  flowing,— 

It  was  not  to  the  clouded  sun 

The  day's  delight  was  owing. 


LESE-AMOUR.  173 

Though  through  the  brown  leaves  straying, 
Our  lives  seemed  gone  a-Maying ; 
We  knew  not  Love  was  with  us  there, 
No  look  nor  tone  betraying. 


How  unbelief  still  misses 
The  best  of  being's  blisses  ! 
Our  parting  saw  the  first  and  last 
Of  love's  imagined  kisses. 

Now  'mid  these  scenes  the  drearest 
I  dream  of  her,  the  dearest,  — 
Whose  eyes  outshine  the  Southern  stars, 
So  far,  and  yet  the  nearest. 

And  Love,  so  gayly  taunted, 
Who  died,  no  welcome  granted, 


174  LESE-  AMOUR. 

Comes  to  me  now,  a  pallid  ghost, 
By  whom  my  life  is  haunted. 

With  bonds  I  may  not  sever, 
He  binds  my  heart  forever, 
And  leads  me  where  we  murdered  him, 
The  Hill  beside  the  River. 

Camp  Shaw,  Florida,  February,  1864. 


NORTHWARD. 

TNDER  the  high  unclouded  sun 

That  makes  the  ship  and  shadow  one, 
I  sail  away  as  from  the  fort 
Booms  sullenly  the  noonday  gun. 

The  odorous  airs  blow  thin  and  fine, 
The  sparkling  waves  like  emeralds  shine, 

The  lustre  of  the  coral  reefs 
Gleams  whitely  through  the  tepid  brine. 

And  glitters  o'er  the  liquid  miles 
The  jewelled  ring  of  verdant  isles, 

Where  generous  Nature  holds  her  court 
Of  ripened  bloom  and  sunny  smiles. 


176  NORTHWARD. 

Encinctured  by  the  faithful  seas 
Inviolate  gardens  load  the  breeze, 

Where  flaunt  like  giant-warders'  plumes 
The  pennants  of  the  cocoa-trees. 


Enthroned  in  light  and  bathed  in  balm, 
In  lonely  majesty  the  Palm 

Blesses  the  isles  with  waving  hands, — 
High-Priest  of  the  eternal  Calm. 


Yet  Northward  with  an  equal  mind 
I  steer  my  course,  and  leave  behind 

The  rapture  of  the  Southern  skies,  — 
The  wooing  of  the  Southern  wind. 


For  here  o'er  Nature's  wanton  bloom 
Falls  far  and  near  the  shade  of  gloom, 


NORTHWARD.  177 

Cast  from  the  hovering  vulture-wings 
Of  one  dark  thought  of  woe  and  doom. 

I  know  that  in  the  snow-white  pines 
The  brave  Norse  fire  of  freedom  shines, 

And  fain  for  this  I  leave  the  land 
Where  endless  summer  pranks  the  vines. 

O  strong,  free  North,  so  wise  and  brave! 
O  South,  too  lovely  for  a  slave ! 

Why  read  ye  not  the  changeless  truth, — 
The  free  can  conquer  but  to  save? 


May  God  upon  these  shining  sands 
Send  Love  and  Victory  clasping  hands, 

And  Freedom's  banners  wave  in  peace 
Forever  o'er  the  rescued  lands  ! 


1/8  NORTHWARD. 

And  here,  in  that  triumphant  hour, 
Shall  yielding  Beauty  wed  with  Power ; 

And  blushing  earth  and  smiling  sea 
In  dalliance  deck  the  bridal  bower. 

Kby  West,  1864. 


IN   THE   FIRELIGHT 

TV  /TY  dear  wife  sits  beside  the  fire 

With  folded  hands  and  dreaming  eyes, 
Watching  the  restless  flames  aspire, 

And  wrapped  in  thralling  memories. 
I  mark  the  fitful  firelight  fling 
Its  warm  caresses  on  her  brow, 
And  kiss  her  hands*  unmelting  snow, 
And  glisten  on  her  wedding-ring. 

The  proud  free  head  that  crowns  so  well 
The  neck  superb,  whose  outlines  glide 

Into  the  bosom's  perfect  swell 
Soft-billowed  by  its  peaceful  tide, 


l80  IN   THE    FIRELIGHT. 

The  cheek's  faint  flush,  the  lip's  red  glow, 
The  gracious  charm  her  beauty  wears, 
Fill  my  fond  eyes  with  tender  tears 

As  in  the  days  of  long  ago. 

Days  long  ago,  when  in  her  eyes 
The  only  heaven  I  cared  for  lay, 

When  from  our  thoughtless  Paradise 
All  care  and  toil  dwelt  far  away  ; 

When  Hope  in  wayward  fancies  throve, 
And  rioted  in  secret  sweets, 
Beguiled  by  Passion's  dear  deceits, — 

The  mysteries  of  maiden  love. 

One  year  had  passed  since  first  my  sight 
Was  gladdened  by  her  girlish  charms, 

When  on  a  rapturous  summer  night 
I  clasped  her  in  possessing  arms. 


IN   THE    FIRELIGHT.  l8l 

And  now  ten  years  have  rolled  away, 
And  left  such  blessings  as  their  dower, 
I  owe  her  tenfold  at  this  hour 

The  love  that  lit  our  wedding-day. 

For  now,  vague-hovering  o'er  her  form, 

My  fancy  sees,  by  love  refined, 
A  warmer  and  a  dearer  charm 

By  wedlock's  mystic  hands  intwined,— 
A  golden  coil  of  wifely  cares 

That  years  have  forged,  the  loving  joy 

That  guards  the  curly-headed  boy 
Asleep  an  hour  ago  up  stairs. 

A  fair  young  mother,  pure  as  fair, 
A  matron  heart  and  virgin  soul ! 

The  flickering  light  that  crowns  her  hair 
Seems  like  a  saintly  aureole. 


1 82  IN   THE   FIRELIGHT. 

A  tender  sense  upon  me  falls 
That  joy  unmerited  is  mine, 
And  in  this  pleasant  twilight  shine 

My  perfect  bliss  myself  appalls. 

Come  back !  my  darling,  strayed  so  far 
Into  the  realm  of  fantasy,  — 

Let  thy  dear  face  shine  like  a  star 
In  love-light  beaming  over  me. 

My  melting  soul  is  jealous,  sweet, 
Of  thy  long  silence'  drear  eclipse, 
O  kiss  me  back  with  living  lips 

To  life,  love,  lying  at  thy  feet! 


IN  A  GRAVEYARD. 

T  N  the  dewy  depths  of  the  graveyard 

I  lie  in  the  tangled  grass, 
And  watch,  in  the  sea  of  azure, 
The  white  cloud-islands  pass. 

The  birds  in  the  rustling  branches 

Sing  gayly  overhead ; 
Gray  stones  like  sentinel  spectres 

Are  guarding  the  silent  dead. 

The  early  flowers  sleep  shaded 

In  the  cool  green  noonday  glooms ; 

The  broken  light  falls  shuddering 

On  the  cold  white  face  of  the  tombs. 


I 84  IN   A   GRAVEYARD. 

Without,  the  world  is  smiling 
In  the  infinite  love  of  God, 

But  the  sunlight  fails  and  falters 
When  it  falls  on  the  churchyard  sod. 

On  me  the  joyous  rapture 
Of  a  heart's  first  love  is  shed, 

But  it  falls  on  my  heart  as  coldly 
As  sunlight  on  the  dead. 


THE  PRAIRIE. 

*T*HE  skies  are  blue  above  my  head, 

The  prairie  green  below, 
And  flickering  o'er  the  tufted  grass 

The  shifting  shadows  go, 
Vague-sailing,  where  the  feathery  clouds 

Fleck  white  the  tranquil  skies, 
Black  javelins  darting  where  aloft 

The  whirring  pheasant  flies. 


A  glimmering  plain  in  drowsy  trance 

The  dim  horizon  bounds, 
Where  all  the  air  is  resonant 

With  sleepy  summer  sounds, — 


1 86  THE   PRAIRIE. 

The  life  that  sings  among  the  flowers, 
The  lisping  of  the  breeze, 

The  hot  cicala's  sultry  cry, 
The  murmurous  dream  of  bees. 

The  butterfly  —  a  flying  flower — 

Wheels  swift  in  flashing  rings, 
And  flutters  round  his  quiet  kin, 

With  brave  flame-mottled  wings. 
The  wild  Pinks  burst  in  crimson  fire, 

The  Phlox'  bright  clusters  shine, 
And  Prairie-Cups  are  swinging  free 

To  spill  their  airy  wine. 

And  lavishly  beneath  the  sun, 
In  liberal  splendor  rolled, 

The  Fennel  fills  the  dipping  plain 
With  floods  of  flowery  gold  ; 


THE    PRAIRIE.  1 87 

And  widely  weaves  the  Iron-Weed 

A  woof  of  purple  dyes 
Where  Autumn's  royal  feet  may  tread 

When  bankrupt  Summer  flies. 

In  verdurous  tumult  far  away 

The  prairie-billows  gleam, 
Upon  their  crests  in  blessing  rests 

The  noontide's  gracious  beam. 
Low  quivering  vapors  steaming  dim 

The  level  splendors  break 
Where  languid  Lilies  deck  the  rim 

Of  some  land-circled  lake. 

Far  in  the  East  like  low-hung  clouds 

The  waving  woodlands  lie ; 
Far  in  the  West  the  glowing  plain 

Melts  warmly  in  the  sky. 


1 88  THE   PRAIRIE. 

No  accent  wounds  the  reverent  airf 
No  footprint  dints  the  sod,  — 

Lone  in  the  light  the  prairie  lies, 
Rapt  in  a  dream  of  God 

Illinois,  1858. 


CENTENNIAL. 

A     HUNDRED  times  the  bells  of  Brown 
Have  rung  to  sleep  the  idle  summers, 
And  still  to-day  clangs  clamoring  down 
A  greeting  to  the  welcome  comers. 

And  far,  like  waves  of  morning,  pours 
Her  call,  in  airy  ripples  breaking, 

And  wanders  to  the  farthest  shores, 
Her  children's  drowsy  hearts  awaking. 

The  wild  vibration  floats  along, 

O'er  heart-strings  tense  its  magic  plying, 
And  wakes  in  every  breast  its  song 

Of  love  and  gratitude  undying. 


190  CENTENNIAL. 

My  heart  to  meet  the  summons  leaps 

At  limit  of  its  straining  tether, 
Where  the  fresh  western  sunlight  steeps 

In  golden  flame  the  prairie  heather. 

And  others,  happier,  rise  and  fare 
To  pass  within  the  hallowed  portal, 

And  see  the  glory  shining  there 

Shrined  in  her  steadfast  eyes  immortaL 

What  though  their  eyes  be  dim  and  dull, 
Their  heads  be  white  in  reverend  blossom ; 

Our  mother's  smile  is  beautiful 
As  when  she  bore  them  on  her  bosom ! 


Her  heavenly  forehead  bears  no  line 
Of  Time's  iconoclastic  fingers, 


CENTENNIAL.  I9I 

But  o'er  her  form  the  grace  divine 

Of  deathless  youth  and  wisdom  lingers. 

We  fade  and  pass,  grow  faint  and  old, 

Till  youth  and  joy  and  hope  are  banished, 

And  still  her  beauty  seems  to  fold 
The  sum  of  all  the  glory  vanished. 


As  while  Tithonus  faltered  on 

The  threshold  of  the  Olympian  dawnings, 
Aurora's  front  eternal  shone 

With  lustre  of  the  myriad  mornings. 

So  joys  that  slip  like  dead  leaves  down, 
And  hopes  burnt  out  that  die  in  ashes, 

Rise  restless  from  their  graves  to  crown 
Our  mother's  brow  with  fadeless  flashes. 


192  CENTENNIAL. 

And  lives  wrapped  in  tradition's  mist 
These  honored  halls  to-day  are  haunting, 

And  lips  by  lips  long  withered  kissed 
The  sagas  of  the  past  are  chanting. 


Scornful  of  absence*  envious  bar 

Brown  smiles  upon  the  mystic  meeting 

Of  those  her  sons,  who,  sundered  far, 
In  brotherhood  of  heart  are  greeting ; 

Her  wayward  children  wandering  on 
Where  setting  stars  are  lowly  burning, 

But  still  in  worship  toward  the  dawn 

That  gilds  their  souls'  dear  Mecca  turning ; 

Or  those  who,  armed  for  God's  own  fight, 

Stand  by  his  word  through  fire  and  slaughter, 


CENTENNIAL.  193 

Or  bear  our  banner's  starry  light 

Far-flashing  through  the  Gulf's  blue  water. 

For  where  one  strikes  for  light  and  truth 
The  right  to  aid,  the  wrong  redressing, 

The  mother  of  his  spirit's  youth 

Sheds  o'er  his  soul  her  silent  blessing. 

She  gained  her  crown  a  gem  of  flame 
When  Kneass  fell  dead  in  victory  gory ; 

New  splendor  blazed  upon  her  name 

When  Ives'  young  life  went  out  in  glory ! 

Thus  bright  forever  may  she  keep 

Her  fires  of  tolerant  Freedom  burning, 

Till  War's  red  eyes  are  charmed  to  sleep 
And  bells  ring  home  the  boys  returning. 


194  CENTENNIAL. 

And  may  she  shed  her  radiant  truth 

In  largess  on  ingenuous  comers, 
And  hold  the  bloom  of  gracious  youth 

Through  many  a  hundred  tranquil  summers! 


A    WINTER    NIGHT. 

*      *HE  winter  wind  is  raving  fierce  and  shrill 

And  chides  with  angry  moan  the  frosty  skies, 
The  white  stars  gaze  with  sleepless  Gorgon  eyes 
That  freeze  the  earth  in  terror  fixed  and  still 
We  reck  not  of  the  wild  night's  gloom  and  chill, 
Housed  from  its  rage,  dear  friend  ;  and  fancy  flies, 
Lured  by  the  hand  of  beckoning  memories, 
Back  to  those  summer  evenings  on  the  h^l 
Where  we  together  watched  the  sun  go  down 
Beyond  the  gold-washed  uplands,  while  his  fires 
Touched  into  glittering  life  the  vanes  and  spires 
Piercing  the  purpling  mists  that  veiled  the  town. 
The  wintry  night  thy  voice  and  eyes  beguile, 
Till  wake  the  sleeping  summers  in  thy  smile. 


STUDENT-SONG. 

\  T  J  HEN  Youth's  warm  heart  beats  high,  my  friend, 

And  Youth's  blue  sky  is  bright, 
And  shines  in  Youth's  clear  eye,  my  friend, 

Love's  early  dawning  light, 
Let  the  free  soul  spurn  care's  control, 

And  while  the  glad  days  shine, 

We'll  use  their  beams  for  Youth's  gay  dreams 

'«> 

Of  Love  and  Song  and  Wine. 

Let  not  the  bigot's  frown,  my  friend, 

O'ercast  thy  brow  with  gloom, 
For  Autumn's  sober  brown,  my  friend, 

Shall  follow  Summer's  bloom. 


STUDENT-SONG.  197 

Let  smiles  and  sighs  and  loving  eyes 

In  changeful  beauty  shine, 
And  shed  their  beams  on  Youth's  gay  dreams 

Of  Love  and  Song  and  Wine. 


For  in  the  weary  years,  my  friend, 

That  stretched  before  us  lie, 
There  '11  be  enough  of  tears,  my  friend, 

To  dim  the  brightest  eye. 
So  let  them  wait,  and  laugh  at  fate, 

While  Youth's  sweet  moments  shine,— 
Till  memory  gleams  with  golden  dreams 

Of  Love  and  Song  and  Wine. 


HOW  IT  HAPPENED. 

T    PRAY  you,  pardon  me,  Elsie, 

And  smile  that  frown  away 
That  dims  the  light  of  your  lovely  face 

As  a  thunder-cloud  the  day. 
I  really  could  not  help  it, — 

Before  I  thought,  't  was  done, — 
And  those  great  gray  eyes  flashed  bright  and  cold, 

Like  an  icicle  in  the  sun. 


I  was  thinking  of  the  summers 

When  we  were  boys  and  girls, 
And  wandered  in  the  blossoming  woods, 

And  the  gay  winds  romped  with  your  curls. 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED.  199 

And  you  seemed  to  me  the  same  little  girl 

I  kissed  in  the  alder-path, 
I  kissed  the  little  girl's  lips,  and  alas ! 

I  have  roused  a  woman's  wrath. 

There  is  not  so  much  to  pardon,  — 

For  why  were  your  lips  so  red  ? 
The  blond  hair  fell  in  a  shower  of  gold 

From  the  proud,  provoking  head. 
And  the  beauty  that  flashed  from  the  splendid  eyes, 

And  played  round  the  tender  mouth, 
Rushed  over  my  soul  like  a  warm  sweet  wind 

That  blows  from  the  fragrant  south. 

And  where,  after  all,  is  the  harm  done  ? 

I  believe  we  were  made  to  be  gay, 
And  all  of  youth  not  given  to  love 

Is  vainly  squandered  away. 


200  HOW   IT   HAPPENED. 

And  strewn  through  life's  low  labors, 
Like  gold  in  the  desert  sands, 

Are  love's  swift  kisses  and  sighs  and  vows 
And  the  clasp  of  clinging  hands. 


And  when  you  are  old  and  lonely, 

In  Memory's  magic  shine 
You  will  see  on  your  thin  and  wasting  hands, 

Like  gems,  these  kisses  of  mine. 
And  when  you  muse  at  evening 

At  the  sound  of  some  vanished  name, 
The  ghost  of  my  kisses  shall  touch  your  lips 

And  kindle  your  heart  to  flame. 


GOD'S  VENGEANCE. 

OAITH  the  Lord,  "Vengeance  is  mine; 

I  will  repay,"  saith  the  Lord ; 
Ours  be  the  anger  divine, 
Lit  by  the  flash  of  his  word. 


How  shall  his  vengeance  be  done  ? 

How,  when  his  purpose  is  clear  ? 
Must  he  come  down  from  his  throne  ? 

Hath  he  no  instruments  here  ? 


Sleep  not  in  imbecile  trust 
Waiting  for  God  to  begin, 


202  GOD  S    VENGEANCE. 

While,  growing  strong  in  the  dust, 
Rests  the  bruised  serpent  of  sin. 

Right  and  Wrong,  —  both  cannot  live 
Death-grappled.     Which  shall  we  see? 

Strike  !  only  Justice  can  give 
Safety  to  all  that  shall  be. 

Shame  !  to  stand  paltering  thus, 
Tricked  by  the  balancing  odds  ; 

Strike  !  God  is  waiting  for  us  ! 

Strike !  for  the  vengeance  is  God's. 


TOO   LATE. 

T  T  AD  we  but  met  in  other  days, 

Had  we  but  loved  in  other  ways, 
Another  light  and  hope  had  shone 
On  your  life  and  my  own. 

In  sweet  but  hopeless  reveries 
I  fancy  how  your  wistful  eyes 
Had  saved  me,  had  I  known  their  power 
In  fate's  imperious  hour ; 

How  loving  you,  beloved  of  God, 
And  following  you,  the  path  I  trod 
Had  led  me,  through  your  love  and  prayers, 
To  God's  love  unawares : 


204  T0°  LATE« 

And  how  our  beings  joined  as  one 
Had  passed  through  checkered  shade  and  sun, 
Until  the  earth  our  lives  had  given, 
With  little  change,  to  heaven. 


God  knows  why  this  was  not  to  be. 

You  bloomed  from  childhood  far  from  me, 

The  sunshine  of  the  favored  place 

That  knew  your  youth  and  grace. 

And  when  your  eyes,  so  fair  and  free, 
In  fearless  beauty  beamed  on  me, 
I  knew  the  fatal  die  was  thrown, 
My  choice  in  life  was  gone. 

And  still  with  wild  and  tender  art 
Your  child-love  touched  my  torpid  heart, 


TOO    LATE.  205 

Gilding  the  blackness  where  it  fell, 
Like  sunlight  over  hell. 

In  vain,  in  vain !   my  choice  was  gone ! 
Better  to  struggle  on  alone 
Than  blot  your  pure  life's  blameless  shine 
With  cloudy  stains  of  mine. 

A  vague  regret,  a  troubled  prayer, 
And  then  the  future  vast  and  fair 
Will  tempt  your  young  and  eager  eyes 
With  all  its  glad  surprise. 

And  I  shall  watch  you,  safe  and  far, 
As  some  late  traveller  eyes  a  star 
Wheeling  beyond  his  desert  sands 
To  gladden  happier  lands. 


LOVE'S   DOUBT. 

•T"*  IS  love  that  blinds  my  heart  and  eyes,  - 
I  sometimes  say  in  doubting  dreams,  — 
The  face  that  near  me  perfect  seems 
Cold  Memory  paints  in  fainter  dyes. 

'T  was  but  love's  dazzled  eyes  —  I  say  — 
That  made  her  seem  so  strangely  bright; 
The  face  I  worshipped  yesternight, 

I  dread  to  meet  it  changed  to-day. 

As,  when  dies  out  some  song's  refrain, 
And  leaves  your  eyes  in  happy  tears, 
Awake  the  same  fond  idle  fears, — 

It  cannot  sound  so  sweet  again. 


love's  doubt.  207 

You  wait  and  say  with  vague  annoy, 
"  It  will  not  sound  so  sweet  again," 
Until  comes  back  the  wild  refrain 

That  floods  your  soul  with  treble  joy. 

So  when  I  see  my  love  again 
Fades  the  unquiet  doubt  away, 
While  shines  her  beauty  like  the  day 

Over  my  happy  heart  and  brain. 

And  in  that  face  I  see  no  more 
The  fancied  faults  I  idly  dreamed, 
But  all  the  charms  that  fairest  seemed, 

I  find  them,  fairer  than  before. 


LAGRIMAS. 

/~*  OD  send  me  tears  ! 
Loose  the  fierce  band  that  binds  my  tired  brain, 
Give  me  the  melting  heart  of  other  years, 

And  let  me  weep  again ! 

Before  me  pass 
The  shapes  of  things  inexorably  true. 
Gone  is  the  sparkle  of  transforming  dew 

From  every  blade  of  grass. 

In  life's  high  noon 
Aimless  I  stand,  my  promised  task  undone, 
And  raise  my  hot  eyes  to  the  angry  sun 

That  will  go  down  too  soon. 


LAGRIMAS.  209 

Turned  into  gall 
Are  the  sweet  joys  of  childhood's  sunny  reign  ; 
And  memory  is  a  torture,  love  a  chain 

That  binds  my  life  in  thrall. 

And  childhood's  pain 
Could  to  me  now  the  purest  rapture  yield  ; 
I  pray  for  tears  as  in  his  parching  field 

The  husbandman  for  rain. 


We  pray  in  vain  ! 

The  sullen  sky  flings  down  its  blaze  of  brass  ; 
The  joys  of  life  all  scorched  and  withering  pass  ; 

I  shall  not  weep  again. 


ON   THE   BLUFF. 

S~\  GRANDLY  flowing  River! 

O  silver-gliding  River  I 
Thy  springing  willows  shiver 

In  the  sunset  as  of  old; 
They  shiver  in  the  silence 
Of  the  willow-whitened  islands, 
While  the  sun-bars  and  the  sand-bars 

Fill  air  and  wave  with  gold. 

O  gay,  oblivious  River! 
O  sunset-kindled  River  ! 
Do  you  remember  ever 
The  eyes  and  skies  so  blue 


ON    THE    BLUFF.  211 

On  a  summer  day  that  shone  here, 
When  we  were  all  alone  here, 
And  the  blue  eyes  were  too  wise 
To  speak  the  love  they  knew? 

O  stern  impassive  River  ! 
O  still  unanswering  River ! 
The  shivering  willows  quiver 

As  the  night-winds  moan  and  rave. 
From  the  past  a  voice  is  calling, 
From  heaven  a  star  is  falling, 
And  dew  swells  in  the  bluebells 

Above  her  hillside  grave. 


UNA. 


TN"  the  whole  wide  world  there  was  but  one, 

Others  for  others,  but  she  was  mine, 
The  one  fair  woman  beneath  the  sun. 


From  her  gold-flax  curls'  most  marvellous  shine 
Down  to  the  lithe  and  delicate  feet 
There  was  not  a  curve  nor  a  waving  line 

But  moved  in  a  harmony  firm  and  sweet 
With  all  of  passion  my  life  could  know. 
By  knowledge  perfect  and  faith  complete 

I  was  bound  to  her,  —  as  the  planets  go 
Adoring  around  their  central  star, 
Free,  but  united  for  weal  or  woe. 


UNA.  213 

She  was  so  near  and  Heaven  so  far  — 
She  grew  my  heaven  and  law  and  fate 
Rounding  my  life  with  a  mystic  bar 

No  thought  beyond  could  violate. 

Our  love  to  fulness  in  silence  nursed 

Grew  calm  as  morning,  when  through  the  gate 

Of  the  glimmering  East  the  sun  has  burst, 
With  his  hot  life  filling  the  waiting  air. 
She  kissed  me  once,  —  that  last  and  first 

Of  her  maiden  kisses  was  placid  as  prayer. 

Against  all  comers  I  sat  with  lance 

In  rest,  and,  drunk  with  my  joy,  I  sware 

Defiance  and  scorn  to  the  world's  worst  chance. 

In  vain  !  for  soon  unhorsed  I  lay 

At  the  feet  of  the  strong  god  Circumstance — ■ 


214  UNA. 

And  never  again  shall  break  the  day, 

And  never  again  shall  fall  the  night 

That  shall  light  me,  or  shield  me,  on  my  way 

To  the  presence  of  my  sad  souPs  delight. 
Her  dead  love  comes  like  a  passionate  ghost 
To  mourn  the  Body  it  held  so  light, 

And  Fate,  like  a  hound  with  a  purpose  lost, 
Goes  round  bewildered  with  shame  and  fright 


nr*H ROUGH  the  long  days  and  years 
What  will  my  loved  one  be, 
Parted  from  me? 
Through  the  long  days  and  years. 

Always  as  then  she  was 

Loveliest,  brightest,  best, 
Blessing  and  blest,— 
Always  as  then  she  was. 

Never  on  earth  again 

Shall  I  before  her  stand, 

Touch  lip  or  hand,  — 
Never  on  earth  again. 


2l6   "THROUGH  THE  LONG  DAYS  AND  YEARS." 

But  while  my  darling  lives 

Peaceful  I  journey  on, 
Not  quite  alone, 
Not  while  my  darling  liveso 


A  PHYLACTERY. 

T  T  7ISE  men  I  hold  those  rakes  of  old 
Who,  as  we  read  in  antique  story, 
When  lyres  were  struck  and  wine  was  poured, 
Set  the  white  Death's  Head  on  the  board  — 
Memento  mori. 


Love  well !    love  truly !  and  love  fast ! 

True  love  evades  the  dilatory. 
Life's  bloom  flares  like  a  meteor  past ; 
A  joy  so  dazzling  cannot  last  — 
Memento  mori. 

Stop  not  to  pluck  the  leaves  of  bay 
That  greenly  deck  the  path  of  glory, 


2l8  A  PHYLACTERY. 

The  wreath  will  wither  if  you  stay, 
So  pass  along  your  earnest  way  — 
Memento  mori. 


Hear  but  not  heed,  though  wild  and  shrill, 

The  cries  of  faction  transitory; 
Cleave  to  your  good,  eschew  your  ill, 
A  Hundred  Years  and  all  is  still  — 
Memento  mori. 


When  Old  Age  comes  with  muffled  drums, 
That  beat  to  sleep  our  tired  life's  story, 
On  thoughts  of  dying,  (Rest  is  good!) 
Like  old  snakes  coiled  i'  the  sun,  we  brood 
Memento  mori. 


BLONDINE. 

T  WANDERED  through  a  careless  world 

Deceived  when  not  deceiving, 
And  never  gave  an  idle  heart 

The  rapture  of  believing. 
The  smiles,  the  sighs,  the  glancing  eyes, 

Of  many  hundred  comers 
Swept  by  me,  light  as  rose-leaves  blown 

From  long-forgotten  summers. 

But  never  eyes  so  deep  and  bright 

And  loyal  in  their  seeming, 
And  never  smiles  so  full  of  light 

Have  shone  upon  my  dreaming. 


220  BLONDINE. 

The  looks  and  lips  so  gay  and  wise, 

The  thousand  charms  that  wreathe  them, 

—  Almost  I  dare  believe  that  truth 
Is  safely  shrined  beneath  them. 

Ah  !  do  they  shine,  those  eyes  of  thine, 

But  for  our  own  misleading  ? 
The  fresh  young  smile,  so  pure  and  fine, 

Does  it  but  mock  our  reading? 

Then  faith  is  fled,  and  trust  is  dead, 
And  unbelief  grows  duty, 

If  fraud  can  wield  the  triple  arm 

Of  youth  and  wit  and  beauty. 


DISTICHS. 

i. 

\T  WISELY  a  woman  prefers  to  a  lover  a  man 
who  neglects  her. 
This  one  may  love  her  some  day,  some  day  the 
lover  will  not. 

ii. 

There    are   three   species    of  creatures    who    when 
they  seem  coming  are  going, 
When  they  seem  going  they  come  :   Diplomates, 
women,  and  crabs. 

in. 
Pleasures   too   hastily  tasted  grow  sweeter  in  fond 
recollection, 


222  DISTICHS. 

As    the   pomegranate   plucked   green   ripens  far 
over  the  sea. 

rv. 

As  the  meek  beasts  in  the  Garden  came  flocking 
for  Adam  to  name  them, 
Men  for   a  title  to-day  crawl  to  the  feet  of   a 
king. 

v. 

What  is  a  first  love  worth,  except  to  prepare  for  a 
second  ? 
What  does  the  second  love  bring  ?     Only  regret 
for  the  first. 

VI. 

Health    was  wooed   by  the  Romans  in  groves   of 

the  laurel  and  myrtle. 

Happy   and   long   are    the    lives    brightened    by 
glory  and  love. 


DISTICHS.  223 

VII. 

Wine   is   like  rain :  when    it  falls    on    the  mire  it 
but  makes  it  the  fouler, 
But  when    it   strikes   the   good  soil  wakes  it  to 
beauty  and  bloom. 


VIII. 

Break  not  the  rose ;   its  fragrance  and  beauty  are 
surely  sufficient : 
Resting   contented   with    these,   never   a  thorn 
shall  you  feel. 


IX, 


When  you   break   up  housekeeping,  you  learn  the 
extent  of  your  treasures  ; 
Till    he   begins   to    reform,  no  one  can  number 
his  sins. 


224  DISTICHS. 

X. 

Maidens !  why  should  you  worry  in  choosing  whom 
you  shall  marry? 
Choose  whom  you  may,  you  will  find  you  have 
got  somebody  else. 


XL 

Unto   each   man    comes   a  day  when   his  favorite 
sins  all  forsake  him, 
And    he    complacently  thinks    he  has  forsaken 
his  sins. 


XII. 

Be  not  too  anxious  to  gain  your  next-door  neigh- 
bor's approval : 
Live  your  own  life,  and  let  him  strive  your  ap- 
proval to  gain. 


DISTICHS.  225 

XIII. 

Who  would    succeed   in  the  world  should  be  wise 
in  the  use  of  his  pronouns. 
Utter    the   You   twenty  times,  where  you   once 
utter  the  I. 


XIV. 

The   best  loved   man  or  maid  in  the  town  would 
perish  with  anguish 
Could   they    hear   all    that   their  friends  say  in 
the  course  of  a  day. 


xv. 
True  luck  consists  not  in  holding  the  best  of  the 
cards  at  the  table : 
Luckiest  he  who   knows  just  when  to  rise  and 
go  home. 


226  DISTICHS. 

XVI. 

Pleasant   enough   it  is  to  hear  the  world  speak  of 
your  virtues  ; 
But  in  your  secret  heart  't  is  of  your  faults  you 
are  proud. 


XVII. 

Try  not    to    beat    back   the  current,  yet   be  not 
drowned  in  its  waters  ; 
Speak  with  the  speech  of  the  world,  think  with 
the  thoughts  of  the  few. 


XVIII. 

Make   all   good  men  your  well-wishers,  and    then, 
in  the  years'  steady  sifting, 
Some   of   them   turn   into   friends.     Friends  are 
the  sunshine  of  life. 


REGARDANT. 


A  S  I  lay  at  your  feet  that  afternoon, 

Little  we  spoke,  —  you  sat  and  mused, 
Humming  a  sweet  old-fashioned  tune, 


And  I  worshipped  you,  with  a  sense  confused 
Of  the  good  time  gone  and  the  bad  on  the  way, 
While  my  hungry  eyes  your  face  perused 

To  catch  and  brand  on  my  soul  for  aye 
The  subtle  smile  which  had  grown  my  doom. 
Drinking  sweet  poison  hushed  I  lay 

Till  the  sunset  shimmered  athwart  the  room. 

I  rose  to  go.     You  stood  so  fair 

And  dim  in  the  dead  day's  tender  gloom: 


228  REGARDANT. 

All  at  once,  or  ever  I  was  aware, 

Flashed  from  you  on  me  a  warm  strong  wave 

Of  passion  and  power ;  in  the  silence  there 

I  fell  on  my  knees,  like  a  lover,  or  slave, 

With  my  wild  hands  clasping  your  slender  waist: 

And  my  lips,  with  a  sudden  frenzy  brave, 

A  madman's  kiss  on  your  girdle  pressed, 
And  I  felt  your  calm  heart's  quickening  beat, 
And  your  soft  hands  on  me  one  instant  rest. 

And  if  God  had  loved  me,  how  endlessly  sweet 
Had  he  let  my  heart  in  its  rapture  burst, 
And  throb  its  last  at  your  firm  small  feet ! 

And  wnen  I  was  forth,  I  shuddered  at  first 
At  my  imminent  bliss.     As  a  soul  in  pain, 
Treading  his  desolate  path  accursed, 


REGARDANT.  229 

Looks    back    and    dreams    through   his    tears'    dim 

rain 
That  by  Heaven's  wide  gate  the  angels  smile, 
Relenting,  and  beckon  him  back  again, 

And  goes  on,  thrice  damned  by  that  devil's  wile,— 

So  sometimes  burns  in  my  weary  brain 

The  thought  that  you  loved  me  all  the  while. 


GUY   OF   THE  TEMPLE. 

"\OWN   the  dim  West  slow  fails   the  stricken 
sun, 
And  from  his  hot  face  fades  the  crimson  flush 
Veiled  in  death's  herald-shadows  sick  and  gray. 
Silent  and  dark  the  sombre  valley  lies 
Forgotten  ;  happy  in  the  late  fond  beams 
Glimmer  the  constant  waves  of  Galilee. 
Afar,  below,  in  airy  music  ring 
The  bugles  of  my  host ;  the  column  halts, 
A  wearied  serpent  glittering  in  the  vale, 
Where  rising  mist-like  gleam  the  tented  camps. 

Pitch  my  pavilion  here,  where  its  high  cross 
May  catch  the  last  light  lingering  on  the  hill. 


GUY    OF   THE   TEMPLE.  23 1 

The  savage  shadows,  struggling  by  the  shore, 

Have  conquered  in  the  valley  ;  inch  by  inch 

The  vanquished  light  fights  bravely  to  these  crags 

To  perish  glorious  in  the  sunset  fire ; 

Even  as  our  hunted  Cause  so  pressed  and  torn 

In  Syrian  valleys,  and  the  trampled  marge 

Of  consecrated  streams,  displays  at  last 

Its  narrowing  glories  from  these  steadfast  walls. 

Here  in  God's  name  we  stand,  and  brighter  far 

Shines  the  stern  virtue  of  my  martyr-host 

Through  these  invidious  fortunes,  than  of  old, 

When  the  still  sunshine  glinted  on  their  helms, 

And  dallying  breezes  woke  their  bridle-bells 

To  tinkling  music  by  the  reedy  shore 

Of  calm  Tiberias,  where  our  angry  Lord, 

Wroth  at  the  deadly  sin  that  cursed  our  camp, 

Denied  and  blinded  us,  and  gave  us  up 


232  GUY   OF   THE   TEMPLE. 

To  the  avenging  sword  of  Saladin. 

Yet  would  he  not  permit  his  truth  to  sink 

To  utter  loss  amid  that  foundering  fight, 

But  led  us,  scarred  and  shattered  from  the  spoil 

Of  Paynim  rage,  the  desert's  thirsty  death, 

To  where  beneath  the  sheltering  crags  we  prayed 

And  rested  and  grew  strong.     Heroes  and  saints 

To  alien  peoples  shall  they  be,  my  brave 

And  patient  warriors  ;  for  in  their  stout  hearts 

God's  spirit  dwells  forever,  and  their  hands 

Are  swift  to  do  his  service  on  his  foes. 

The  swelling  music  of  their  vesper-hymn 

Is  rising  fragrant  from  the  shadowed  vale 

Familiar  to  the  welcoming  gates  of  heaven. 

Mother  of  God!  as  evening  falls 
Upon  the  silent  sea, 


GUY    OF    THE   TEMPLE. 


233 


And  shadows  veil  the  mountain  walls, 

We  lift  our  souls  to  thee  ! 
From  lurking  perils  of  the  night, 

The  desert's  hidden  harms. 
From  plagues  that  waste,  from  blasts  that  smite, 
Defend  thy  men-at-arms  ! 

Ay !  Heaven  keep  them  !  and  ye  angel-hosts 
That  wait  with  fluttering   plumes  around  the  great 
White  throne  of  God,  guard  them  from  scathe  and 

harm  ! 
For  in  your  starry  records  never  shone 
The  memory  of  desert  so  great  as  theirs. 
I  hold  not  first,  though  peerless  else  on  earth, 
That  knightly  valor,  born  of  gentle  blood 
And  war's  long  tutelage,   which   hath   made    their 

name 


234  GUY   0F   THE   TEMpLE. 

Blaze  like  a  baleful  planet  o'er  these  lands  ; 

Firm  seat  in  saddle,  lance  unmoved,  a  hand 

Wedding  the  hilt  with  death's  persistent  grasp ; 

One-minded  rush  in  fight  that  naught  can  stay. 

Not  these  the  highest,  though  I  scorn  not  these, 

But  rather  offer  Heaven  with  humble  heart 

The  deeds  that  heaven  hath  given  us  arms  to  do. 

For  when  God's  smile  was  with  us  we  were  strong 

To  go  like  sudden  lightning  to  our  mark : 

As  on  that  summer  day  when  Saladin  — 

Passing  in  scorn  our  host  at  Antioch, 

Who  spent  the  days  in  revel,  and  shamed  the  stars 

With  nightly  scandal  —  came  with  all  his  host, 

Its  gay  battalia  brave  with  saffron  silks, 

Flaunting  the  banners  of  the  Caliphate 

Beneath  the  walls  of  fair  Jerusalem  : 

And  white  and  shaking  came  the  Leper-King, 


GUY   OF    THE    TEMPLE.  235 

Great  Baldwin's  blasted  scion,  and  Tripoli 
And  I,  and  twenty  score  of  Temple  Knights, 
To  meet  the  myriads  marshalled  by  the  bright 
Untarnished  flower  of  Eastern  chivalry  ; 
A  moment  paused  with  level-fronting  spears 
And  moveless  helms  before  that  shining  host, 
Whose  gay  attire  abashed  the  morning  light, 
And  then  struck  -spur  and  charged,  while  from  the 

mass 
Of  rushing  terror  burst  the  awful  cry, 
God  and  the  Temple  /    As  the  avalanche  slides 
Down  Alpine  slopes,  precipitous,  cold  and  dark, 
Unpitying  and  unwrathful,  grinds  and  crushes 
The  mountain  violets  and  the  valley  weeds, 
And  drags  behind  a  trail  of  chaos  and  death  ; 
So  burst  we  on  that  field,  and  through  and  through 
The  gay  battalia  brave  with  saffron  silks, 


236  GUY   OF   THE   TEMPLE. 

Crushed  and  abolished  every  grace  and  gleam, 
And  dragged  where'er  we  rode  a  sinuous  track 
Of  chaos  and  death,  till  all  the  plain  was  filled 
With  battered  armor,  turbaned  trunkless  heads, 
With  silken  mantles  blushing  angry  gules 
And  Bagdad's  banners  trampled  and  forlorn. 
And  Saladin,  stunned  and  bewildered  sore,  — 
The  greatest  prince,  save  in  the  grace  of  God, 
That  now  wears  sword,  —  mounted  his  brother's  barfy 
And,  followed  by  a  half-score  followers, 
Sped  to  his  castle  Shaubec,  over  against 
The  cliffs  by  Ascalon,  and  there  abode: 
And  sullenly  made  order  that  no  more 
The  royal  nouba  should  be  played  for  him 
Until  he  should  erase  the  rusting  stain 

Upon  his  knightly  honor ;  and  no  more 
The  nouba  sounded  by  the  Sultan's  tent, 


GUY    OF    THE    TEMPLE. 


237 


Morning  nor  evening  by  the  silent  tent, 
Until  the  headlong  greed  of  Chatillon 
Spread  ruin  on  our  cause  from  Montreale. 
But  greatest  are  my  warriors,  as  I  deem, 
In  that  their  hearts,  nearer  than  any  else 
Keep  true  the  pledge  of  perfect  purity 
They  pledged  upon  their  sword-hilts  long  ago. 
For  all  is  possible  to  the  pure  in  heart. 

Mother  of  God !  thy  starry  smile 

Still  bless  tis  from  above  ! 
Keep  pare  oar  souls  from  passion's  guile, 

Our  hearts  from  earthly  love ! 
Still  save  each  soul  from  guilt  apart 

As  stainless  as  each  sword> 
And  guard  undimmed  in  every  heart 

The  image  of  our  Lord ! 


238  GUY   OF    THE   TEMPLE. 

O  goodliest  fellowship  that  the  world  has  known, 
True  hearts  and  stalwart  arms !  above  your  breasts 
Glitters  no  flash  of  wreathen  amulet 
Forged  against  sword-stroke  by  the  chanted  rhythm 

Of  charms  accurst ;  but  in  each  steadfast  heart 

Blazes  the  light  of  cloudless  purity, 

That  like  a  splendid  jewel  glorifies 

With  restless  fire  the  gold  that  spheres  it  round, 

And  marks  you  children  of  our  God,  whose  lives 

He  guards  with  the  awful  jealousy  of  love. 

And  even  me  that  generous  love  has  spared,  — 

Me,  trustless  knight  and  miserable  man,  — 

Sad    prey    of   dark    and    mutinous    thoughts    that 

tempt 
My  sick  soul  into  perjury  and  death  — 
Since  his  great  love  had  pity  of  my  pain, 
Has  spared  to  lead  these  blameless  warriors  safe 


GUY    OF   THE    TEMPLE.  339 

Into  the  desert  from  the  blazing  towns, 

Out  of  the  desert  to  the  inviolate  hills 

Where     God     has    roofed    them    with    his     hollow 

shield. 
Through  all  these  days  of  tempest  and  eclipse 
His  hand  has  led  me  and  his  wrath  has  flashed 
Its  lightnings  in  the  pathway  of  my  sword. 
And  so  I  hope,  and  so  my  crescent  faith 
Gains  daily  power,  that  all  my  prayers  and  tears 
And  toils  and  blood  and  anguish  borne  for  him 
May  blot  the  accusing  of  my  deadly  sin 
From    heaven's   high   compt,  and   give  me   rest  in 

death ; 
And  lay  the  pallid  ghost  of  mortal  love, 
That  fills  with  banned  and  mournful  loveliness, 
Unblest,  the  haunted  chambers  of  my  soul. 
My  misery  will  atone,  —  my  misery,  — 


24°  GUY   OF   THE   TEMPLE. 

Dear  God,  will  surely  atone  !  for  not  the  sting 
Of  macerating  thongs,  nor  the  slow  horror 
Of  crowns  of  thorny  iron  maddening  the  brows, 
Nor  all  that  else  pale  hermits  have  devised 
To  scourge  the  rebel  senses  in  their  shade 
Of  caverned  desolation,  have  the  power 
To  smart  and  goad  and  lash  and  mortify 
Like  the  great  love  that  binds  my  ruined  heart 
Relentless,  as  the  insidious  ivy  binds 
The  shattered  bulk  of  some  deserted  tower, 
Enlacing  slow  and  riving  with  strong  hands 
Of  pitiless  verdure  every  seam  and  jut, 
Till  none  may  tear  it  forth  and  save  the  tower. 
So  binds  and  masters  me  my  hopeless  love. 
So  through  the  desert,  in  the  silent  hills, 
F  the  current  of  the  battle's  storm  and  stress, 
One  thought  has  driven    me,  —  that    though    men 
may  call 


GUY    OF    THE   TEMPLE.  241 

Me  stainless  Paladin,  Knight  leal  and  true 
To  Christ  and  Our  Lady,  still  I  know  myself 
A  knight  not  after  God's  own  heart,  a  soul 
Recreant,  and  whelmed  in  the  forbidden  sin. 
For  dearer  to  my  sad  heart  than  the  cross 
I  give  my  heart's  best  blood  for  are  the  eyes 
That  long  ago,  when  youth  and  hope  were  mine, 
I  loved  in  thy  still  valleys,  far  Provence! 
And  sweeter  to  my  spirit  than  the  bells 
Of  rescued  Salem  are  the  loving  tones 
Of  her  dear  voice,  soft  echoing  o'er  the  years. 
They  haunt  me  in  the  stillness  and  the  glare 
Of  desert  noontide  when  the  horizon's  line 
Swims  faintly  throbbing,  and  my  shadow  hides 
Skulking  beneath  me  from  the  brassy  sky. 
And  when   night  comes   to  soothe  with   breath  of 
balm 


242  GUY   OF  THE  TEMPLE. 

And  pomp  of  stars  the  worn  and  weary  world, 
Her  eyes  rise  in  my  soul  and  make  its  day. 
And  even  into  the  battle  comes  my  love, 
Snatching  the  duty  that  I  offer  Heaven. 

At  closing  of  El-Majed's  awful  day, 
When  the  last  quivering  sunbeams,  choked  with  dust 
And  fume  of  blood,  failed  on  the  level  plain, 
In  the  last  charge,  when  gathered  all  our  knights 
The  precious  handful  who  from  morn  had  stemmed 
The  fury  of  the  multitudinous  hosts 
Of  Islam,  where  in  youth's  hot  fire  and  pride 
Ramped  the  young  lion-whelp,  Ben-Saladin  ; 
As  down  the  slope  we  rode  at  eventide, 
The  dying  sunlight  faintly  smiled  to  greet 
Our  tattered  guidons  and  our  dinted  helms 
And  lance-heads  blooming  with  the  battle's  rose. 
Into  the  vale,  dusk  with  the  shadow  of  death, 


GUY    OF   THE    TEMPLE.  243 

With  silent  lips  and  ringing  mail  we  rode. 
And  something  in  the  spirit  of  the  hour, 
Or  fate,  or  memory,  or  sorrow,  or  sin, 
Or  love,  which  unto  me  is  all  of  these, 
Possessed  and  bound  me  ;  for  when  dashed  our  troop 
In  stormy  clangor  on  the  Paynim  lines 
The  soul  of  my  dead  youth  came  into  me ; 
Faded  away  my  oath  ;  the  woes  of  Zion, 
God  was  forgot ;  blazed  in  my  leaping  heart, 
With  instant  flash,  life's  inextinguished  fires  ; 
Plunging  along  each  tense  limb  poured  the  blood 
Hot  with  its  years  of  sleeping-smothered  flame. 
And  in  a  dream  I  charged,  and  in  a  dream 
I  smote  resistless  ;  foemen  in  my  path 
Fell  unregarded,  like  the  wayside  flowers 
Clipped  by  the  truant's  staff  in  daisied  lanes. 
For  over  me  burned  lustrous  the  dear  eyes 


244  GUY  OF  THE  TEMPLE. 

Of  my  beloved  ;  I  strove  as  at  a  joust 

To  gain  at  end  the  guerdon  of  her  smile. 

And  ever,  as  in  the  dense  melee  I  dashed, 

Her  name  burst  from  my  lips,  as  lightning  breaks 

Out  of  the  plunging  wrack  of  summer  storms. 

» 

0  my  lost  love  !     Bright  o'er  the  waste  of  years  — 
That  bliss  and  beauty  shines  upon  my  soul ; 

As  far  beyond  yon  desert  hangs  the  sun, 
Gilding  with  tender  beam  the  barren  stretch 
Of  sands  that  intervene.     In  this  still  light 
The  old  sweet  memories  glimmer  back  to  me. 
Fair  summers  of  my  youth,  —  the  idle  days 

1  wandered  in  the  bosky  coverts  hid 

In  the  dim  woods  that  girt  my  ancient  home ; 
The  blue  young  eyes  I  met  and  worshipped  there; 
The  love  that  growing  turned  those  gloomy  wilds 


GUY   OF   THE   TEMPLE.  245 

To  faery  dells,  and  filled  the  vernal  air 

With  light  that  bathed  the  hills  of  Paradise ; 

The  warm,  long  days  of  rapturous  summer-time, 

When  through  the  forests  thick  and  lush  we  strayed, 

And  love  made  our  own  sunshine  in  the  shades. 

And  all  things  fair  and  graceful  in  the  woods 

I  loved  with  liberal  heart ;  the  violets 

Were  dear  for  her  dear  eyes,  the  quiring  birds 

That  caught  the  musical  tremble  of  her  voice. 

O  happy  twilights  in  the  leafy  glooms ! 

When  in  the  glowing  dusk  the  winsome  arts 

And  maiden  graces  that  all  day  had  kept 

Us  twain  and  separate  melted  away 

In  blushing  silence,  and  my  love  was  mine 

Utterly,  utterly,  with  clinging  arms 

And  quick,  caressing  fingers,  warm  red  lips, 

Where  vows,  half  uttered,  drowned  in  kisses,  died ; 


2/fi  GUY   OF  THE  TEMPLE. 

Mine,  with  the  starlight  in  her  passionate  eyes ; 
The  wild  wind  of  the  woodland  breathing  low 
To  wake  the  elfin  music  of  the  leaves, 
And  free  the  prisoned  odors  of  the  flowers, 
In  honor  of  young  Love  come  to  his  throne ! 
While  we  under  the  stars,  with  twining  arms 
And  mutual  lips  insatiate,  gave  our  souls  — 
Madly  forgetting  earth  and  heaven  —  to  love ! 

In  desert  march  or  battles  flame, 

In  fortress  and  in  field, 
Our  war-cry  is  thy  holy  name, 

Thy  love  our  joy  and  shield 7 
And  if  we  falter,  let  thy  power 

Thy  stern  avenger  be, 
And  God  forget  us  in  the  hour 

We  cease  to  think  of  thee  / 


GUY   OF    THE    TEMPLE.  247 

Curse  me  not,  God  of  Justice  and  of  Love  ! 
Pitiful  God,  let  my  long  woe  atone ! 

I  cannot  deem  but  God  has  pitied  me  ; 

Else  why  with  painful  care  have  I  been  saved, 

Whenever  tossed  and  drenched  in  the  fierce  tide 

Of  Saladin's  victories  by  the  walls  profaned 

Of  Jaffa,  on  the  sands  of  far  Daroum, 

Or  in  the  battle  thundering  on  the  downs 

Of  Ramlah,  or  the  bloody  day  that  shed 

Red  horrors  on  high  Gaza's  parapets  ? 

For  never  a  storm  of  fatal  fight  has  raged 

In  Islam's  track  of  rout  and  ruin  swept 

From  Egypt  to  Gebail,  but  when  the  ebb 

Of  battle  came  I  and  my  host  have  lain, 

Scarred,  scorched,  safe  somewhere  on  its  fiery  shore. 

At  Marcab's  lingering  siege,  where  day  by  day 


248  GUY    OF   THE   TEMPLE. 

We  told  the  Moslem  legions  toiling  slow, 

Planting  their  engines,  delving  in  their  mines 

To  quench  in  our  destruction  this  last  light 

Of  Christendom,  our  fortress  in  the  crags, 

God's  beacon  swung  defiant  from  the  stars ; 

One  thunderous  night  I  knew  their  miners  groped 

Below,  and  thought  ere  morn  to  die,  in  crush 

And  tumult  of  the  falling  citadel. 

And  pondering  of  my  fate  —  the  broken  storm 

Sobbing  its  life  away  —  I  was  aware 

There  grew  between  me  and  the  quieting  skies 

A  face  and  form  I  knew,  —  not  as  in  dreams, 

The  sad  dishevelled  loveliness  of  earth, 

But  lighter  than  the  thin  air  where  she  swayed,  — 

Gold  hair  flame-fluttered,  eyes  and  mouth  aglow 

With  lambent  light  of  spiritual  joy. 

With  sweet  command  she  beckoned  me  away 


GUY   OF   THE   TEMPLE.  249 

And  led  me  vaguely  dreaming,  till  I  saw 
Where  the  wild  flood  in  sudden  fury  had  burst 
A  passage  through  the  rocks  :  and  thence  I  led 
My  host  unharmed,  following  her  luminous  eyes, 
Until  the  East  was  gray,  and  with  a  smile 
Wooing  me  heavenward  still  she  passed  away 
Into  the  rosy  trouble  of  the  dawn. 

And  I  believe  my  love  is  shrived  in  heaven, 
And  I  believe  that  I  shall  soon  be  free. 

For  ever,  as  I  journey  on,  to  me 

Waking  or  sleeping  come  faint  whisperings 

And  fancies  not  of  earth,  as  if  the  gates 

Of  near  eternity  stood  for  me  ajar, 

And  ghostly  gales  come  blowing  o'er  my  soul 

Fraught  with  the  amaranth  odors  of  the  skies. 

I  go  to  join  the  Lion-Heart  at  Acre, 


250  GUY   OF    THE   TEMPLE. 

And  there,  after  due  homage  to  my  liege, 
And  after  patient  penance  of  the  church, 
And  after  final  devoir  in  the  fight, 
If  that  my  God  be  gracious,  I  shall  die. 
And  so  I  pray  —  Lord  pardon  if  I  sin  !  — 
That  I  may  lose  in  death's  imbittered  wave, 
The  stain  of  sinful  loving,  and  may  find 
In  glory  again  the  love  I  lost  below, 
With  all  of  fair  and  bright  and  unattained, 
Beautiful  in  the  cherishing  smile  of  God, 
By  the  glad  waters  of  the  River  of  Life! 


Night  hangs  above  the  valley ;  dies  the  day 
In  peace,  casting  his  last  glance  on  my  cross, 
And  warns  me  to  my  prayers.     Ave  Maria  ! 
Mother  of  God  !  the  evening  fades 
On  wave  and  hill  and  lea. 


GUY    OF    THE   TEMPLE.  25 1 

And  in  the  twilight's  deepening  shades 

We  lift  our  souls  to  thee ! 
In  passion's  stress  —  the  battles  strife, 

The  desert's  lurking  harms} 
Maid-Mother  of  the  Lord  of  Lifey 

Protect  thy  men-at-arms  i 


TRANSLATIONS. 


THE  WAY  TO  HEAVEN. 

FROM   THE  GERMAN. 

/^NE  day  the  Sultan,  grand  and  grim, 
Ordered  the  Mufti  brought  to  him. 
"  Now  let  thy  wisdom  solve  for  me 
The  question  I  shall  put  to  thee. 

"The  different  tribes  beneath  my  sway 
Four  several  sects  of  priests  obey ; 
Now  tell  me  which  of  all  the  four 
Is  on  the  path  to  Heaven's  door." 

The  Sultan  spake,  and  then  was  dumb. 
The  Mufti  looked  about  the  room, 


256  THE   WAY   TO   HEAVEN. 

And  straight  made  answer  to  his  lord, 
Fearing  the  bowstring  at  each  word: 

"Thou,  godlike  in  thy  lofty  birth, 
Who  art  our  Allah  upon  earth, 
Illume  me  with  thy  favoring  ray, 
And  I  will  answer  as  I  may. 

"  Here,  where  thou  thronest  in  thy  hall, 
I  see  there  are  four  doors  in  all; 
And  through  all  four  thy  slaves  may  gaze 
Upon  the  brightness  of  thy  face. 

"That  I  came  hither  safely  through 
Was  to  thy  gracious  message  due, 
And,  blinded  by  thy  splendor's  flame, 
I  cannot  tell  the  way  I  came." 


COUNTESS  JUTTA. 

FROM   THE   GERMAN   OF   HEINRICH    HEINE. 

nr*HE  Countess  Tutta  passed  over  the  Rhine 

In  a  light  canoe  by  the  moon's  pale  shine. 
The  handmaid  rows  and  the  Countess  speaks : 
"  Seest  thou  not  there  where  the  water  breaks 
Seven  corpses  swim 
In  the  moonlight  dim  ? 
So  sorrowful  swim  the  dead  ! 


"  They  were  seven  knights  full  of  fire  and  youth, 
They  sank  on  my  heart  and  swore  me  truth. 
I  trusted  them  ;  but  for  Truth's  sweet  sake, 


258  COUNTESS  JUTTA. 

Lest  they  should  be  tempted  their  oaths  to  break, 

I  had  them  bound, 

And  tenderly  drowned  ! 
So  sorrowful  swim  the  dead !  * 


The  merry  Countess  laughed  outright! 

It  rang  so  wild  in  the  startled  night ! 

Up  to  the  waist  the  dead  men  rise 

And  stretch  lean  fingers  to  the  skies. 
They  nod  and  stare 
With  a  glassy  glare! 

So  sorrowful  swim  the  dead  J 


A   BLESSING. 


AFTER   HEINE. 


\T  THEN  I  look  on  thee  and  feel  how  dear, 

How  pure,  and  how  fair  thou  art, 
Into  my  eyes  there  steals  a  tear, 
And  a  shadow  mingled  of  love  and  fear 
Creeps  slowly  over  my  heart. 

And  my  very  hands  feel  as  if  they  would  lay 

Themselves  on  thy  fair  young  head, 
And  pray  the  good  God  to  keep  thee  alway 
As  good  and  lovely,  as  pure  and  gay, — 
When  I  and  my  wild  love  are  dead. 


TO  THE  YOUNG. 


AFTER   HEINE. 


L1 


ET  your  feet  not   falter,  your  course  not  al- 
ter 
By  golden  apples,  till  victory's  won! 
The  sword's  sharp  clangor,  the  dart's  shrill  anger, 
Swerve  not  the  hero  thundering  on. 


A  bold  beginning  is  half  the  winning, 
An  Alexander  makes  worlds  his  fee. 

No  long  debating!    The  Queens  are  waiting 
In  his  pavilion  on  bended  knee. 


TO   THE   YOUNG.  26 1 

Thus  swift  pursuing  his  wars  and  wooing, 
He  mounts  old  Darius'  bed  and  throne. 

O  glorious  ruin !     O  blithe  undoing ! 
O  drunk  death-triumph  in  Babylon ! 


THE  GOLDEN  CALF. 

AFTER   HEINE. 

T~\OUBLE  flutes  and  horns  resound 
As  they  dance  the  idol  round ; 
Jacob's  daughters,  madly  reeling, 
Whirl  about  the  golden  calf. 
Hear  them  laugh! 
Kettledrums  and  laughter  pealing. 

Dresses  tucked  above  their  knees, 
Maids  of  noblest  families, 
In  the  swift  dance  blindly  wheeling, 
Circle  in  their  wild  career 
Round  the  steer,  — 
Kettledrums  and  laughter  pealing. 


THE    GOLDEN    CALF.  263 

Aaron's  self,  the  guardian  gray 

Of  the  faith,  at  last  gives  way, 

Madness  all  his  senses  stealing; 

Prances  in  his  high  priest's  coat 

Like  a  goat, — 
Kettledrums  and  laughter  pealing. 


THE  AZRA. 


AFTER   HEINE. 


T^VAILY  walked  the  fair  and  lovely 

Sultan's  daughter  in  the  twilight, 
In  the  twilight  by  the  fountain, 
Where  the  sparkling  waters  plash. 

Daily  stood  the  young  slave  silent 
In  the  twilight  by  the  fountain, 
Where  the  plashing  waters  sparkle, 
Pale  and  paler  every  day. 

Once  by  twilight  came  the  princess 
Up  to  him  with  rapid  questions: 


THE   AZRA.  265 

"  I  would  know  thy  name,  thy  nation, 
Whence  thou  comest,  who  thou  art." 


And  the  young  slave  said,  "  My  name  is 
Mahomet,  I  come  from  Yemmen. 
I  am  of  the  sons  of  Azra, 
Men  who  perish  if  they  love." 


GOOD  AND  BAD  LUCK. 

AFTER  HEINE. 

/~*  OOD  LUCK  is  the  gayest  of  all  gay  girls, 

Long  in  one  place  she  will  not  stay, 
Back  from  your  brow  she  strokes  the  curls, 
Kisses  you  quick  and  flies  away. 

But  Madame  Bad  Luck  soberly  comes 

And  stays,  —  no  fancy  has  she  for  flitting, — 

Snatches  of  true  love-songs  she  hums, 
And  sits  by  your  bed,  and  brings  her  knitting. 


L 'AMOUR  DU   MENSONGE. 

AFTER   CHARLES    BAUDELAIRE. 

1  T  7HEN  I  behold  thee,  O  my  indolent  love, 

To  the  sound  of  ringing  brazen  melodies, 
Through  garish  halls  harmoniously  move, 

Scattering  a  scornful  light  from  languid  eyes ; 

When  I  see,  smitten  by  the  blazing  lights, 
Thy  pale  front,  beauteous  in  its  bloodless  glow 

As  the  faint  fires  that  deck  the  Northern  nights, 
And  eyes  that  draw  me  wheresoe'er  I  go; 

I  say,  She  is  fair,  too  coldly  strange  for  speech ; 
A  crown  of  memories,  her  calm  brow  above, 

i 


268  l'amour  du  mensonge. 

Shines ;  and  her  heart  is  like  a  bruised  red  peach, 
Ripe  as  her  body  for  intelligent  love. 

Art  thou  late  fruit  of  spicy  savor  and  scent? 

A  funeral  vase  awaiting  tearful  showers  ? 
An  Eastern  odor,  waste  and  oasis  blent  ? 

A  silken  cushion  or  a  bank  of  flowers  ? 


I  know  there  are  eyes  of  melancholy  sheen 
To  which  no  passionate  secrets  e'er  were  given ; 

Shrines  where  no  god  or  saint  has  ever  been, 
As  deep  and  empty  as  the  vault  of  Heaven. 

But  what  care  I  if  this  be  all  pretense? 

'T  will  serve  a  heart  that  seeks  for  truth  no  more. 
All  one  thy  folly  or  indifference,  — 

Hail,  lovely  mask,  thy  beauty  I  adore ! 


AMOR  MYSTICUS. 

FROM   THE   SPANISH  OF   SOR   MARCELA   DE   CARPIO. 

T    ET  them  say  to  my  Lover 

That  here  I  lie ! 
The  thing  of  His  pleasure, 
His  slave  am  I. 


Say  that  I  seek  Him 

Only  for  love, 
And  welcome  are  tortures 

My  passion  to  prove. 

Love  giving  gifts 

Is  suspicious  and  cold ; 


27O  AMOR   MYSTICUS. 

I  have  all,  my  Beloved, 
When  Thee  I  hold. 


Hope  and  devotion 

The  good  may  gain ; 

I  am  but  worthy 

Of  passion  and  pain. 

So  noble  a  Lord 

None  serves  in  vain, 
For  the  pay  of  my  love 

Is  my  love's  sweet  pain. 

I  love  Thee,  to  love  Thee, — 
No  more  I  desire ; 

By  faith  is  nourished 

My  love's  strong  fire. 


AMOR    MYSTICUS.  2JI 

I  kiss  Thy  hands 

When  I  feel  their  blows ; 
In  the  place  of  caresses 

Thou  givest  me  woes. 


But  in  Thy  chastising 

Is  joy  and  peace. 
O  Master  and  Love, 

Let  Thy  blows  not  cease. 


Thy  beauty,  Beloved, 

With  scorn  is  rife, 
But  I  know  that  Thou  lovest  me 

Better  than  life. 


And  because  Thou  lovest  me, 
Lover  of  mine, 


272 


AMOR    MYSTICUS. 

Death  can  but  make  me 
Utterly  Thine. 


I  die  with  longing 
Thy  face  to  see ; 

Oh !  sweet  is  the  anguish 
Of  death  to  me! 


Electrotyped and printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  6*  C#. 
Cambridge ;  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


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